


Take This Chance

by Faetality



Series: Take This Chance [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3b compliant in the loosest sense possible, Aftermath of Possession, Alpha Peter Hale, BAMF Stiles, Character Death, Chris speaks fluent French, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Did I say slow burn?, Good Alpha Peter, Good Parent Sheriff Stilinski, He makes mistakes but no one is perfect, Hurt/Comfort, Isaac speak French like a drunk toddler, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Minor Character Death, Multi, Nightmares, Original Character(s), POV Alternating, Pack Bonding, Serious Injuries, Sheriff Stilinski is a Good Parent, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is Noah, Slow Burn, So does Peter, Spark Stiles Stilinski, but it’s okay, peter gets a pack, void!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-05-07 00:18:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 58,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14659239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faetality/pseuds/Faetality
Summary: Peter had done a lot of bad in his life and he was well aware of that. He made no apologies for what he was and was under no illusion he was "good". He did like to think he would be a good alpha. If only Beacon Hills didn't keep screwing with the plan.Christopher Argent was a good man and a great soldier. He knew his place but when he sees the world around him falling apart what is he going to do? Sometimes the plan never works the way it should- even when you do everything right.Stiles... Stiles had been through a lot but he's been thrown into a situation where sarcasm and bravado can't pull him through. Maybe he can learn to lean on someone else for a change.





	1. Chapter 1 : Alpha Again

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a long one, I hope to post a chapter every week though failing at that there will be one every two (and some oneshots, etc. for when the story line escapes me). Any mistakes here are mine as the work is unbeta'd and I appreciate all comments and critiques. As the work goes on I'll post any content warnings I feel are needed at the beginnings of the chapter and update the tags.  
> Without further ado;  
> Enjoy guys!

 

“You’re an alpha again.” The hunter’s voice was flat, as though the information didn’t matter, another fact of life in Beacon Hills. Peter knew better. He crossed his arms, tilted his head and confirmed the question that wasn’t asked.    
“I am.”    
“What are you going to do?”   And wasn’t that the question Peter had been asking himself since he had sunk his claws into the rogue four days prior. The McCall boy was an alpha now, a “true” alpha as though that made him a good leader. The idea of an alpha who wasn’t a Hale leading a pack here… it grated but it wasn’t worth killing over. Not when the Pack was his. When Derek was still there to carry the name. His nephew had made it clear that he wouldn’t join Peter, even without McCall in the picture-  He had killed Laura and that wouldn’t be forgotten though Peter hoped he would be forgiven one day. Even so, Derek needed a pack. Omega status wasn’t something Derek would be able to handle for long.    
He could leave. It wouldn’t be hard, he could take half the Hale vault and build a pack elsewhere. Yes, he would do that, not now though, there was something unfinished in Beacon Hills, something inside of him that wouldn’t let him walk away. So he answered truthfully without a pause. “I’m going to stay here, help my nephew and keep McCall and his ragtags get stable, and then-” a shrug, “we’ll see.” 

“Why?”  Such distrust. 

“Why not? Contrary to what everyone seems to think I do care about my family and this town, cursed as I’m sure it is- is my home. I’d hate to see it go to hell.” the began to part ways but Peter stopped,   
“Christopher” the hunter stilled though his heart upticked “I heard you have a new code. I’m glad. Truly. I hope this time all of you can keep it.”   
***

Alpha. Beta. Omega.  An omega could not exist without a pack long- but what was an Alpha without a beta? What made a lone Alpha different than an omega?  _ Nothing. Everything.  _   
Peter laid back with his hands on his stomach, eyes closed as he considered. He needed a pack but who? The ‘twins’ weren’t suitable, too angry, too dominate. Peter wasn’t ready to test his own control like that, not just yet.  _ Stiles.  _ He would make a beautiful wolf, Peter was sure of it. But he was steadfast in his denial. Besides, there was no telling how the bite would affect his Spark. No, he was more useful as a human, with a bit of training he would be phenomenal. So Stiles would stay human but he needed training and Deaton wouldn’t provide it. He filed that task away for another day.

He had no options immediately available and teenagers were not an option. He would simply have to wait, keep eyes and ears open for options in the next months. Being alone wouldn’t kill him, he’d been alone for long enough that a bit longer wouldn’t end him. Peter sighed.  _ Alpha.  _ _  
_ Well- there was always Christopher. Wasn’t that a laugh.  _ Christopher Argent. _ Werewolf. Beta to a Hale. Gerard would roll in his grave. Peter shook his head, maybe he really was losing it. 

***   
Stiles was tapping his pen against his lip, foot bouncing against the tile of the diner’s floor, trying to finish his math but he simply couldn’t. The fact that he had spotted Peter Hale coming toward the diner certainly didn’t help his concentration. Since the Nemeton incident he had seen as much of Peter as he had sleep. Not a bit. He was good with that- well the Peter thing not the sleep thing. That’s slowly killing him he swears. 

Peter bypassed that counter and slid directly into the booth across from him and Stiles cocked his head with a raised brow. “You came back- I was really hoping we might catch a break this time. What do you want Peter?”  The wolf smiled and if Stiles didn’t know better he’d call it genuine, bordering on creepy but not like that night he’d interrupted him and Ms. McCall.    
“Well hello to you too Stiles, might I say you look worse than you did before.” 

“Wow. Okay, thanks, if you could leave now that you’ve insulted me for the day-”   
“You aren’t sleeping. No, don’t lie.” Stiles closed his mouth and sat back, “That’s not why I stopped by.” That earned the wolf a snort,  _ stalked more like it.  _ “I have something for you, it’s a book I had in my collection.” Okay, Stiles would bite; especially when the book in question was an honest to god leather bound book with a pentagram on it. “It’s a basic collection of knowledge on magic, you’re a human running with wolves. You may as well learn a few things about what you can do.” 

“Oh… well… thanks.” He hoped he didn’t offend, he was already reaching for the tome, eager to start reading.    
“When you’re done I would like it back.” Stiles nodded.    
“Yeah, yeah, thanks. Really. If I have questions”   
“You can ask me. Oh, and Stiles? Get some sleep.” 

Stiles passed out around two a.m. with the book still open on the desk and no nightmares that night. 

 

-

  
“No, dude.  _ Peter  _ gave it to me. Yeah, I know but it’s amazing there’s so much stuff in here!”    
“But, why would he do that? It has to be dangerous- you should give it back to him.”    
“No!” Stiles took a deep breath, looking between Scott and Lydia, “I mean, not yet, I’m not even a quarter of the way through it. Its better to read it before I give it back right?”    
“At least let Deaton look at it.” Silence hung heavy for a beat.   
“I’ll think about it.”   
“Stiles!”   
“No Scott.”  

And that was that. He tried hard to ignore how Scott looked at him for the rest of the evening after that. 

 

It took eight days to finish the book, scribbling notes in a spare notebook he had so he would remember to look deeper into those sections. It distracted him from the day to day routine, the fact that he was still getting but a few hours of sleep a night.  
The night after he finished it he woke screaming, panic gripping his chest as the nightmare clung to his vision. Words that meant  _something_ but couldn't be remembered. He was choking on each breath he drew, sobbing every time he couldn't hold it.   “Stiles! Stiles, it’s me.” His dad was there, gripping his shoulders, forcing him to look up, open his eyes, to  _see him_ before gentling the touch and pulling him into his chest. The teen cried, burying himself into the arms that promised comfort and safety when nothing else did. When the world was falling apart again. “Shh, shh it’s okay Son. It’s going to be okay.” The words felt too much like a lie on Noah’s tongue; he repeated it over and over anyway. Stiles cried until he fell back asleep, hands curled and stretching the fabric of his father's shirt and Noah didn’t move until the sun forced him to start the day. 

 

 

  
“Stay home, I mean it. You can take a day off from school. You’ve earned it.” the sheriff brushed fingers over Stiles’ hair earning a mumbled “okay” before he left for work. Stiles dozed until he couldn’t and he lay staring at the book on his desk. Well. His day was free. 

A shower, a single poptart, half a glass of apple juice, and a small bout of dizziness later he was out the door. When Peter had come back he’d taken it upon himself to investigate, a few questions to Derek helped him narrow down his search through the residential records and some footwork let him find the wolf’s location in just over two weeks. The information stayed with him, of course, but it was well worth the effort. The location in question was a set of ‘luxury’ apartments on the east side of Beacon Hills and upon arriving Stiles couldn’t help but note that Roscoe was definitely out of place among the cars of Ridge Court. 

Stiles smiled at the woman in the foyer, knowing he also looked out of place in the building but she smiled back nonetheless. “I’m looking for Peter Hale, I’m a friend of his nephew’s and I needed to give him something. He didn’t answer when I messaged him I was going to drop by could you tell me if he’s home?” 

“Oh, of course! I wasn’t aware he had a nephew- I’ve not seen him come down today so if you wanted to ride up and knock you’re welcome to.” Stiles had a sneaking suspicion the girl was relatively new and that worked to his advantage greatly.    
“Okay! Um, I’m afraid he didn’t say which number apartment he’s in, I know it’s the sixth floor…”   
“6A.”    
“Awesome! Thank you!” 

 

-

  
“Stiles, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Peter was more put together than Stiles and he had to wonder just how early the wolf woke up to look like he stepped off the cover of GQ at 9:48 a.m.    
“I brought your book back.” he adjusted the strap on his shoulder and shifted feet “Look, I wanted to ask you about some of what’s in the book. Could I-”   
“Come in.” He passed Peter by and hesitated as to where he should sit, he sat down in one of the armchairs in the living room and set the bag by his feet. The apartment was… neat. An open layout for the living room and kitchen, divided by a small partition with a window, there was a great view of Beacon Hills and a few pieces of art around.  There was a bit of clutter on a desk on the far side of the room, a laptop open but sleeping. A flatscreen hung on the wall above a multipurpose entertainment display, multiple cherry wood bookshelves were around the walls stocked half full and beneath his sneakers was a plush carpet that he almost felt bad about putting his shoes on top of. “What did you have questions about?” 

“Oh, uh, a couple of things. It wasn’t really clear about the differences in magic users, like- what makes a witch and druid different and all of that and then why can’t supernaturals use some kinds of magic but not others- and then there was that section about ‘light and dark’” Peter held up his hand and Stiles stopped talking.    
“One at a time and I’m going to need more coffee.” the wolf disappeared a moment before coming back in the room with a mug and sitting on the couch at an angle. “So, druids and witches are different because druids follow a code focused on ‘balance’. They also tend to be extremely unhelpful when you need them. Witches are just humans who have learned to handle magic, they can be as powerful as druids but typically only when operating in a group.”   
“Covens right?”  Stiles got his confirmation in a nod.    
“There’s another group called Sparks.” The book had touched on that briefly but not enough to even give him a vague idea of what they were. “Sparks are humans who have the ability to do magic that is more inborn than witches and more diverse than druids. I believe you know a bit about that.”  

_ What?  _

“You really don’t know? Like I said, druids are entirely unhelpful. Deaton more so than most;”    
“Deaton gave me mountain ash once and I made it stretch further than it should but that- does that mean I’m magic? That’s the only thing I’ve ever done.”    
“You’re a spark, with training you could be exceptionally strong.” Stiles sat back, thinking. Magic. He could do almost anything according to what he had read. 

“Training…” maybe he could train himself. “What about the whole good and bad magic thing? That make sense like, should the intention of the magic determine what it is?” 

“That's exactly right, though some magic is more volatile than others it’s mostly the intent that determines if it’s light or dark. Did you have another question for me, Stiles?” 

The way the wolf asked seemed knowing and Stiles hesitated.  _ Did he- no he couldn’t but… he’s the only one you can ask Stiles. Ask damn it! _

“There’s a part of the book that talks about ghosts and symptoms of- it’s dumb you know what- nevermind- I’m just gonna go now, thanks for the book.” he set the book in question on the coffee table and moved to grab his bag and go. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking coming here in the first place. 

“Stiles.” What was he doing going to Peter Hale for help? He didn’t even know what was wrong with him, he needed to leave and forget about all of this “Stiles!” 

Peter was looking at him with something that, on anyone else, he would call concern and it made him falter as he headed to the door. “Ask your question.” Stiles shook his head, he couldn’t. 

“It’s stupid really, I should get home before my dad checks in on me…”

“Give me your phone.”    
“What?”    
“You phone, Stiles, give it to me.” 

“Why?”    
“Now.”    
The device was passed over, unlocked, and Peter entered something in. Stiles took it back and stared at the new contact. “I- okay. Thanks?”    
“If you have any more questions you can text me.”  Stiles just nodded and left.  


	2. Chapter 2 : Past Sins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties with the timeline as I’m sure you’ll notice. So in this timeline the events at the end of s3e14 where Peter and Derek find the container of Talia’s claws happen earlier with Peter returning to Beacon Hills soon after while Derek returns later, about a week or two. The events of that episode involving Malia and Stiles’ inability to read also occur slightly earlier.
> 
> small content warning: for very brief abuse and abuse mentions (nothing too bad)

 

Chris had known there was something wrong, but knowing and  _ knowing  _ were two very different things. Knowing that your daughter was having issues keeping her hands steady and had been having lapses in attention was different than having her look at you with all lack of recognition while a crossbow was levelled at your heart. Knowing was different than understanding. When awareness snapped back into her eyes and the weapon clattered to the floor he pulled her close, shushing away the shaky apologies she kept repeating. 

 

Yes, Chris had known something was wrong but he hadn’t understood just how wrong it truly was. It was late enough in the evening that he could usher her to bed, sitting on the edge until she had smiled and ensured him that she was okay. She was an Argent, of course she was okay. The incident left a knot in his stomach though, something that refused to be ignored but couldn’t be directly taken care of. Gathering a majority of the weapons stashed about her room and the main living area eased it some. He allowed two knives to be left in her room, unable to leave her entirely defenseless but the rest he locked away, the key moved to a drawer in his desk and locked there. 

Hunting had been his life since the beginning, Gerard had raised him not as a son but a soldier and he was okay with that. Truly. He understood his place in the grand scheme of things but Allison should never have been here. In a position created only by the sins of her forebears. He shouldn’t have come back to Beacon Hills. 

 

With a sigh he ran his hands down his face, steeling the nerves and emotions that the past hour had caused and opened his computer to do some work. Argent Arms International was his family’s company and though he could easily have delegated the tasks associated with running it he couldn’t bring himself to actually do it. It wasn’t for the money. Without hunting as he used to he needed the company to keep him occupied when there was too little for him to do. Paperwork and communication, meetings and arrangements. Directing hunters to places that needed help. Those were things he could handle. 

 

A half hour later he had abandoned the seemingly endless stream of emails for the Bestiary. At least this way he felt like he was accomplishing something. 

 

***

[to: Stalkerwolf] You said I could ask anything so this is a very important question. Are mermaids real? 

It seemed a better start to texting the wolf than an awkward hello and Stiles didn’t have much to be self conscious of in the question department so he let it fly. After all, Peter said to ask anything. A quarter of an hour later the reply lit up his phone and Stiles snatched the device up with a grin.   
[from: Stalkerwolf] I’ve never met one. 

 

[to: Stalkerwolf] Peter that’s not a reply.   
[to: Stalkerwolf] Peter?

[to: Stalkerwolf] Peter!

  
  


Four days after Stiles had left- not fled he did not flee- Peter’s apartment another book showed up on his front doorstep though he never saw the man who undoubtedly left it there. He glanced around in case any of the neighbors were being nosy and then hurried inside with the book held to his chest. He was excited to have the chance to learn more, maybe something to help with what Deaton had said; closing that door in his mind. The others had seemed to get a better handle on their ‘incidents’ but Stiles was definitely not convinced about his own; something was still definitely wrong.    
There were Hotpockets in the fridge, a small blessing for him as he really wasn’t prepared to cook anything and he was willing to forgive his dad for buying them as the box was already half empty when he dug into it. When he finally got up to his room, throwing his bag against the desk he was rubbing one hand on his jeans to get rid of the grease so he could read without causing any damage. He didn’t want to imagine what Peter would do to him if he left pizza stains on even one page. Though he could imagine it vividly. He set the book open on the end of the bed and sat down to read. 

Only he couldn’t. 

 

Panic seized in his chest when he first opened the book, the words not making sense, moving, unfamiliar.  _ Not again. No no no. I was over this it can’t be happening again.  _ He slammed the book shut and rubbed his eyes.  _ It’s okay. It’s okay Stiles, it’ll pass. You don’t have to have a panic attack, it’ll pass.  Breathe. Breathe.  _

It didn’t. 

 

The next day, Tuesday, he sat through class and focused on his notes. He was catching some words, enough to follow along and keep the teachers from calling on him. No one needed a repeat of Yukimora’s history class. At lunch he wanted to tell them what was happening again but Allison beat him to it with;

“I nearly shot my dad.” 

“You-”   
“Nearly put an arrow in his chest. Yeah.”

 

“Well, that’s the first incident since the one with me, right? That’s some progress isn’t it?” Lydia pushed the tray of fries from her plate toward Stiles. Grateful he dug in deciding that for now, he’d deal. He didn’t have enough to go on to give them anything anyway.    
“Have you heard from Derek? I mean, Peter is back so what about him?”    
“He hasn’t answered anything I’ve sent him. Do you think Peter”   
“Dude no. He’s a psychotic zombie wolf yeah but I don’t think he’d kill Derek. He’s probably just holed up somewhere deciding if he should buy another leather jacket. Anyway if you could use the bestiary to find out anymore it’d be great.” 

“Yeah…”   
“Wait. Peter’s back?”    
“Yes, Isaac. Catch up, please.”    
“Shut up, Stilinski.”

 

***

 

“Alpha Gionni.” 

“Hale.” Marco Gionni was one of the two San Francisco area pack Alphas, Peter had liked him little when he was 19 learning to be the left hand of his alpha, now he loathed him. The man thought far too highly of himself and was edging into his late fifties if Peter was pressed to make a guess. The wolf was a subtly brutal alpha, demanding complete subjugation from his betas and hard to make an alliance with without suffering some indignity, but his pack was safe. Safety in exchange for freedom was a large price to pay in Peter’s mind. 

 

“I came by out of courtesy, I’ll be here in the city for a few days and I wanted no surprises as I’m sure you’ll agree.” 

“And on what business are you here, anything that is going to cause me trouble?” 

_ Not if you stay out of it.  _

“No, nothing at all. Just some errands, shopping around, visiting an old friend. I’ll be gone by Wednesday.” It was too easy to lie to a werewolf when you knew how to skirt the truth. That the older alpha didn’t even register Peter’s change in status was telling. His senses were dulling, a side effect from years of drinking wolfsbane infused liquor like water. It was useful knowledge to have. 

“Be sure you are. You bring trouble with you and I would prefer you gone before it can get here.” Really, his reputation had gone down the drain while he was out of it.

 

Peter liked the city, the ability to get whatever was needed without dealing with the looks of people who thought they knew your history. Without worrying about who might recognize you while shopping for everyday commodities. He actually had planned on arriving back in beacon hills before Wednesday, but over estimating was better than underestimating. He shopped the first day, new shirts and pants and a high dollar jacket that felt like butter beneath his fingertips. 

There was a second pack in the territory, one who Peter had been on much friendlier terms with and who visiting was not such a hardship. 

The house was two stories, an off-white color with a burgundy door, it was lovely in a picket fence sort of way that had never been his own version of home. A place to himself, to his pack without neighbors, the ability to shift and relax outside without threat of exposure… that was a home. He knocked anyway. 

 

“Who are you?”  The girl who flung open the door wasn’t one he recognized at first. Scruffy dark hair and clothes that were artfully ripped to show off skin without being ‘inappropriate’.  If pressed to make a guess she would be about 15 but he wouldn’t have bet money on it. 

“Peter Hale, I’m here to talk to Jack Rhodes.” 

“Well, he’s not here. You’ll just have to come back.” Oh this girl was a piece of work. She was a wolf, not one of the human pack members. 

“Well, could you tell me where I might find him? It kind of important.” The door was slammed in his face. After a brief moment of shock at the sheer audacity of the gesture his lips twitched in preparation for the snarl he choked down.   _ Kids.  _ __  
  


After the failure to speak with the few people he actually aimed to Peter settled on simply exploring, there was a lot that had changed in six years and walking was no hardship. It was something he enjoyed after his time immobile. 

There was a bakery in the city, it was set off the main strip and Peter could smell it from a block away. Stepping inside the shop he was hit by a mix of sweet and gentle spices, nothing overpowering which was a huge plus in Peter's mind. The place was decorated in soft colors and there were several people scattered about giving a low buzz of conversation. “I’ll be out in just a second! Ah; okay; shi-” there’s a clatter of metal on metal. Coming out of the kitchen was a young blond man with flour caught in his hair. “Hey! I’m Lucien, the owner here, what can I get for you.”    
Peter grinned, “That cake looks fantastic.” The Baker was a Wolf but he couldn’t determine what pack he was with over the smell of the shop. “I don’t suppose you give a  _ local _ discount?” Peter leaned forward a bit, under guise of looking at the top shelf and let his eyes flash. It was just a brief moment and he didn’t expect the full grin he received in return. 

“I do but something tells me you aren’t exactly local, are you?”  There were too many people around for Peter to pursue questioning the blond but he was certainly someone to remember. He paid, tucked the box carefully under his arm and nodded farewell to the baker.   
It was as Peter left the shop his phone dinged, 

“ _ Meet me at the loft _ ” 

Reunions would just have to wait. 

 

-

 

“Are you going to tell me what I risked life and digit for?” Derek raised a brow, setting the container down and then following it. 

_ Talia _ .  

There was something about seeing the claws on the table that made his guy clench, not in the way he might have expected, grief or something more, but a sense of something  _ wrong _ . That had never stopped him before of course but he had to wonder just what Derek needed, why he had risked so much.

“I need to talk to her and this is the only way it can be done.” Well who was he to deny someone what they wanted?

 

Getting Derek to agree to let him keep the claws after the ritual was done was easier than Peter had expected though he read the mistrust in his reasoning easily. There was some truth in it, she was his sister, his alpha, protector, family. But having the claws of an alpha such as her at his disposal, especially if the ritual worked as intended well. There was no price on something like that. 

 

It took a moment to steel himself.  It was going to hurt like hell and that was the least of the issues. Talking to the dead was something he wasn’t familiar with beyond the usual but in theory, it was bad. There was a misconception that the dead did not have agendas; everyone had an agenda. The dead more so than the living, after all, there was all that time to plan. Still…. Peter lowered his hand into the container, ready for the inevitable. After all, it certainly wouldn’t be the worst thing he’d ever experienced and beyond that this could be interesting, a small repayment for Derek getting them captured down south. He stopped his fingertips a hairsbreadth from the ends of the claws, in the back of his head there was voice but it wasn’t his own, so familiar,   _ You can’t do this. It’s wrong. Wrong.  _ **_Wrong._ **  “Too long”    
“No, wait!” pain lit up every nerve ending, burning through him with so much force he couldn’t stop the partial shift, eyes flaring red, breath caught in his throat as a power that wasn’t his own ran through him. He doubted it would have been any easier as a beta but he could feel the power at odds with his own. As though it knew he wasn’t the owner and wanted him to be as uncomfortable with that knowledge as he possibly could be. 

 

“This is going to be excruciatingly painful.”   
“Just do it.”    
“Oh I’m going to. I just wanted you to know. We all have our petty revenges.” 

 

The claws slid in without resistance, the power that had been pulsing just beneath the skin easing as Derek entered his own mind, Peter expected some backlash but when the power surged again -

 

_ He’s fourteen again, on his knees, beta gold eyes staring up into ones more orange than yellow. “She should have left you to the woods before you learned to open that goddamn mouth of yours.” One hand raised, claws catching the flicker of light from the fireplace across the room and he simply curled down a little more, prepared for the sharp sting . The pain was better than being omega. _

_ “Grandfather!”  _ Talia.  _ Alpha. Peter glanced over before eyes lowered back to the floor, submissive in the way he never would be again, completely and vulnerably. “As alpha of this pack,” she was in front of him now, shielding him, “if you ever speak or threaten him again I will throw you out and kill you on sight.” He was guided up, “Stay here tonight Peter.”  _ __  
__  
_ “You know it’s dangerous Peter, the Nemeton’s power if it got back to the hunters the land”  _ _  
_ __ “I know, it’s okay. Do it.” 

 

_ There was blood soaking his shirt, pants, spattered up the side of his face where he hadn’t quite washed it all away. “I didn’t, it wasn’t supposed to be like that. Talia” werewolves didn’t go into shock but Peter felt like this was close, numb, shaky, confused “what I did, gods, what did I do? What did I do?”  _ _  
_ _ “You protected the pack Peter, you did exactly what you were supposed to.” one hand wrapping around his neck made him droop, letting himself be guided into a one armed hug blurring the lines between alpha-beta, leader-enforcer, siblings. It was a comfort that he gladly took until claws sunk deep into his neck “Talia-” _

 

And then he was back in the loft, cold sweat rolling down his neck and back, stomach churning. Derek looked no better, gasping over the chair.    
“Did you see her? Did she say anything about me?”    
The look Derek gave him was murderous.

 

***

Another werewolf. Chris flexed his hand at his side, letting the stretch and pull of muscles focus him and bring him back down to a steady gaze. “Why? Wasn’t it bad enough with Scott, Allison? No, don’t answer that.” He took a breath and sat down against the edge of his desk, leveling his daughter with a look far less stern than he wanted. “I don’t want you involved with another werewolf. Not right now, not… like that. Be friends, I don’t care but” the power flickered one, twice, then was gone. 

Anywhere but Beacon Hills would that have been okay. 

 

Isaac screamed. Chris might not have liked the idea of his daughter having sex with the boy but he did like him. He was a nice kid and more than worth breaking down a door to help. The problem was that they were too late, it seemed that he was always too late these days. 

“Dad he’s freezing.”  touching his own hands to Isaacs skin was like grabbing a railing in the dead of winter, so cold it hurt but hard to pull away from.  _ If they shift, they heal- so don’t let them shift do you got that Christopher.   _ __  
__ He needs to shift.    
“Move.” he braced one hand on Isaac’s chest and swung. Once, twice, “Shift, Isaac!” he let him go, watched the boy and yeah, he really was just a kid under it all. Shivering still, fighting back tears like he’d been doing it all his life. He reminded Chris of someone else he’d known, pushed him to rest a hand on his ankle as he spoke. Chris honestly, deeply, wished he could have ignored the words as he left the room, leaving Isaac in Allison’s hands.   
He had twenty-four hours to fix this. Impossible odds; even for an Argent. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so the next chapters are gonna diverge more from the canon lines as I've set up the groundwork now, if there's anything you guys want to see me explore (either here in this fic or as side fics) shoot me a message on my tumblr faetxlity.tumblr.com !


	3. Chapter 3 : In The Night

Stiles wasn’t sure where he was. He had the vague sense that he was dreaming. Reality around him was murky, vision blurred and sounds muted as though he were hearing them from rooms away. Dark trees rose up around him from all sides, long lines of gunmetal gray against the pitch dark of space between them. He was just… walking. Being aware that he was dreaming wasn’t anything new for him, especially after the last few weeks but moving forward he found himself unsure. He was searching for something. Someone. Who? 

A twig cracked beneath his feet, gunshot loud in the stillness of the dark. There was a break in the canopy above him, letting a bit of starlight trickle down, illuminating his hands… he stopped walking.  _ One. Two. Three. Four. Five…. Ten.  _ “I’m not dreaming.” he spun around, head jerking from side to side. The forest around him didn’t seem to end, suddenly silent in the way that woods this large shouldn’t be, endless. Dark. “Okay, okay.” panic was welling in his throat until his hands landed on his phone and he let himself sink down, sitting on the dry leaves and squeezing his eyes shut. He’d been at the school. That was the last thing he remembered, he was at the school, in the chemistry room, the key, the writing. His writing. He’d written it.  _ Oh god.  _

He pressed the phone tight against his ear as though that would stop the tremor running though his hands and drown out the rush of blood in his ears. 

“What?” The snap of the voice that picked up on the other end was dimly surprising and the growl in it made him flinch. 

“Peter, it’s Stiles.” his own voice was as shaky as the rest of him. He didn’t have enough capacity to pretend he was okay, there wasn’t a point in it when he was talking to a wolf. 

“Stiles?” in his mind the teen could see him, levering himself up in bed, brow creased. “What’s wrong?”  He was right to sound off guard, though that had to be the lingering sleep, they’d been texting sure. Things about pack, some magic questions, an occasional joke but nothing serious. Not enough to warrant a call. 

“I don’t know where I am. I was sleepwalking- I think- I’m lost and I can’t see anything and I didn’t know what to do and I”   
“Stiles, what can you see?”    
“I told you, nothing! It’s just trees!”    
“You’re in the woods, okay. Calm down and focus, Stiles. Can you hear anything?”  He wanted to snap again. Calm down! Calm down? He was in the middle of nowhere, in the woods, in  _ Beacon Hills.  _ “Close your eyes. Focus. What do you hear?”  Stiles did as instructed, slowing his breathing until he was able to focus a little better. In the distance there was a sound,    
“Water.” fast moving, maybe over something but not like a waterfall.    
“Creek or river?”    
“Uhm.” it sounded big, if he was hearing it from some distance it had to be big. “River, to the west.” 

“Anything else?”  there was a shuffling sound down the line, a jacket being pulled on if Stiles had to guess, 

“Nothing. Like at all, nothing nothing.”  There was a long silence on the line and then,

“I know where you are, roughly. Walk toward the water  but don’t go too close, if you fall in you’re on your own”  _ dick  _  “Once you see it, follow it upstream until you reach a clearing on your side of the river, there will be a few big rocks in it and a downed tree . Stay there.”   
“Peter-”   
“Do as I say. I’m coming to get you. Do you need me to stay on the phone?” Not want, but need. No mention of calling his dad. Nothing. Stiles didn’t think that should have comforted him in his decision to call the wolf but it did. 

“No. No, ‘ll be okay.”    
“See you soon, Stiles.” 

 

Stiles counted as he walked, trying desperately to keep his breathing even, warding off the panic attack that he could feel edging on. It was five minutes to the edge of the river and it was larger than Stiles had thought. About twenty feet across at its widest and moving swiftly. It was another ten to the clearing. It was only eight minutes before there was a shadow darting at the edges of his vision. He walked faster. It happened again. 

Stiles all but threw himself against the back of one of the rocks, head down,  a low voice came from somewhere though it might have been everywhere. 

 

“We’re all alone here, Stiles.” 

 

***

The forest was as familiar to Peter still as that room he’d spent the last six years in, it settled him and called to him in the way an old friend would. His wolf pushed itself to the surface, stronger than Peter had expected it to and he reigned in the impulse to simply run and not look back. The preserve was home, it was safe, he could be himself- except there was a reason for being here tonight. The access road he’d taken put him about a one and a half mile hike to the clearing, he allowed himself to shift and run, whatever was happening with Stiles it wasn’t good. It certainly was going to affect everyone around.Stiles had always been a focal point, in the thick of the mess without a thought for himself. It was foolish but Peter admired the loyalty. 

Upon reaching the clearing his senses were assaulted by two things, first was the too fast heartbeat and the second was the intense scent of anxiety.  he lost his shift, senses filled with two things and two things only. The first was the scent of overwhelming anxiety bordering on true fear. The second was the absence of all sound that wasn’t Stiles. Himself, or the river. The rapid heartbeat led him around the clearing to see Stiles, entirely at odds with the young man he had become- too much like the boy on the lacrosse field that night... The boy was curled in on himself, rocking as he fought to breathe. “Stiles.” he flinched back at the voice and Peter crouched down, trying again. “Stiles, look at me.” 

Slowly amber eyes raised to take him in but the panicked scent didn’t dissipate. Peter held up one hand, showing off human nails before reaching out to take Stiles’ upper arm in his grip, “Are you hurt?”  There was no tang of blood but that meant little, a shake of his head eased that concern but left others. “Can you breathe?” another head shake, “panic attack.” not a question. “Sit up, come on now,” once the teen was up he took his hand and laid it against his own chest, “Breathe with me.” This felt familiar, the ghost of a memory shadowing his actions in the most painful of ways, a small body against his chest as they calmed down, matching breaths to his own as he hummed- no. This wasn’t like that, that would only bring him more pain. 

“There we go.” Exhaustion replaces the panic in Stiles’ eyes and Peter allows the hand on his chest to curl into his shirt, stretching the fabric. Getting the teen standing was another feat, allowing him to use Peter as support while his eyes darted around wildly as though looking for someone… “Stiles,” the boy was taller than him, he knew that, but like this he seemed small. 

“Where is he?” 

“Who?” 

“There was someone here, I swear Peter I swear he was right here.” Peter wasn’t sure if back to back panic attacks were possible but if they were stiles was verging on another. The wolf breathed deeply, scenting the air. There was Stiles, the faded scent of a stag, himself, but nothing else. But the boy’s heart didn’t lie, his fear didn’t lie. Stiles had heard someone, something had terrified him. 

“There’s no one else’s scent here.” 

“I know what I heard!” 

“I believe you but there’s no scent. Whatever it is, I can’t smell it.” Calling him a liar wasn’t going to help anything and the wolf knew he wouldn’t lie about something like this. “Let’s go, I’ll take you home, we’ll sort through this.”  It quickly became apparent that Stiles was more than tired, he was exhausted in a way that was far more than a long day. After he stumbled for the third time, nearly giving himself a concussion on a log Peter simply lifted him up bridal style. 

“What-“

“This is faster and you’re less likely to kill yourself.” Stiles was stubborn but so was Peter and he had no delusions about himself. A faint glow started around his eyes before Stiles relented and let himself relax. Peter refused to be smug about that. 

 

***

 

There were some fights that simply weren’t worth the effort and letting someone else worry about things for a while, even something as simply as walking, well; he wasn’t going to fight too hard. Not when it was so very easy to let his head fall to the wolf’s shoulder. In the morning he would analyze that, why it was so easy to trust the alpha and let him touch him. And holy shit. Peter Hale let him touch him. More than once. Peter didn’t let anyone touch him, short of Derek that one time in the hospital when they were fighting the alpha twins he couldn’t think of a single instance of it. Except right now. And that was chilling in a way, that of all people Peter let Him touch. The wolf didn’t seem in too much of a rush to get rid of him, pace almost leisure back through the woods and Stiles let the steadiness of it all soothe him into a half state of sleep.

It was the opening of a car door and the jostling of his position that drew him back into full awareness. A noise of complaint fell from his lips as he was taken from that edge of the most restful sleep he would have had in weeks.  

“Oh hush.”  Stiles was shocked when, rather than simply set him on the ground Peter placed him in the seat, it was a little rough, more akin to being dropped than placed really but still. Peter’s car was like everything else he owned, sleek, expensive, with leather seats more comfortable than a bed. Then again, that might just be the exhaustion talking. He ignored the seatbelt in favor of curling up with his head against the window. The car started with a purr and for a while that was all the noise between them. It was a surprisingly smooth drive down the road and before long they were heading back toward town. 

“What were you doing before you woke up out there?” 

Honestly he should have thought of a plausible answer before the question came up but now, well, it wasn’t a secret. He was going to tell Scott already and Peter had helped him. 

“I was at the school, I had this key and it had phosphors on it and it fit the chemical closet that Barrow was hiding in and I was trying to figure out who left Kira’s name on the board and then I was out there…” 

“Did you find out?” 

“Huh?” He finally lifted his head from the window, 

“Who wrote the name, Stiles. Did you find out?” 

“Um, yeah. Yeah I did.” 

“And?” He was getting exasperated with him which wasn’t good. 

“It was me. But I don’t remember doing it! I don’t remember any of it.” 

 

Peter’s grip turned white knuckled on the steering wheel and he drew a steady breath, Stiles curled further toward the window. Thankful when no more questions came.  They weren’t headed downtown when Stiles net looked around, instead they were headed to  _ his  _ house. Was he just going to drop him off? After everything tonight?    
Too quickly he said, “Dad’s working a late shift.” 

 

Peter stopped the car in front of his house, looking at him curiously. “Are you asking me to stay, Stiles?” Stiles nodded and then quickly left the car, leaving Peter to follow him into the house. 

 

*

The Stilinski household was quaint, it felt like a home but there was a sadness in its walls that no time was able to erase; like the taste of ash that plagued Peter’s days. “I just don’t want to do anything… I mean. I don’t know what I might do if I’m alone and dad isn’t going to be home and you don’t  _ have  _ to stay but if you did it’s not like I’d say no? But uh, yeah I’m just gonna shower- help yourself to anything in the kitchen but I’m not sure we have anything that’s not microwave and you seem like a bit of a food snob okay yeah I’m going to shower.” Gods that kid was going to be the death of him- well he already had been but that wasn’t the point. With Stiles safely preoccupied for a bit Peter began looking around the house. 

He had expected some clutter and mess and in a way he was right but there was far less well…  _ less  _ than he would have thought. The sheriff had a demanding job and Stiles wasn’t known for his organization outside of research but there simply wasn’t much of anything. Books, papers, a few dvd cases, nothing of interest except that Legally Blonde was on the top of the pile.  The living room was a bust, not even a few photos around to hold his interest so he headed to the kitchen. He went through the cabinets and fridge only to find that Stiles was correct; there was depressingly little ‘real’ food, though there were the makings of a sandwich that Peter counted as a win. 

In the halls upstairs were the photos that the main areas so sorely lacked, but there were few of them and none from recent years. The first was a family portrait on a hall table, half obscured by a fake plant. It held the sheriff from his deputy days, face clear of many of the lines that now told his age and troubles, a beaming baby Stiles, and the late Claudia Stilinski. Peter remembered her in passing but he wasn’t around Beacon Hills much at the time of her and Noah’s marriage and by the time he was around there was the fire and he had heard enough about her to know her passing was something sensitive for more reasons than death. There was one photo on the wall, a middle school Stiles and Scott at what seemed to be a graduation, and the final photo was gone, only a light patch of wall where it should have hung. Down the hall the shower was still running and Peter took it as an opportunity to enter Stiles’ room. 

Where the rest of the house was homey but didn’t feel lived in so much as lived at, Stiles room was a den. The bed was rumpled, half made, the floor littered with fallen papers that PEter took care to step around as he was drawn to the board near the wall. Each string had a meaning, that was clear, but they were organized in a fashion that- while he was sure he  _ could  _ determine- at first glance only served to intrigue without giving knowledge. Stiles was sharp, even dulled with exhaustion and stress he was three times brighter than any of the others in McCall’s little ‘pack’. The posters that donned the walls were interesting, looks into the sides of the teen that he hadn’t previously cared to know, but the books that piled high on the desk were the real interest. The ones he had lent were there, on the tops of the pile, textbooks and Vonnegut below them. 

Peter took a seat on the twin bed, fingers smoothing over the sheets. They needed to be washed, or perhaps thrown out entirely as fear was sunk deep into them atop the laundry detergent. There was a line of mountain ash across the window sill and Peter felt part of his wolf relax knowing Stiles had been taking precautions at least. 

“Peter!” 

“Stiles!” 

There’s a long staring match, Stiles caving with a sigh “I’d like to go to bed and you’re kind of sitting on it so if you would move.” Stiles approached him and simply crawled in behind Peter, facing the wall on top of the covers. “Seriously, can you move to the chair?” 

Peter acquiesced and moved to the rolling chair by the desk, lounging in it. After fifteen minutes of listening to Stiles’ breathing while flipping through a book on astral projection he asked. 

“How are the books?” 

“Peter I really don’t want-“ 

“You’re avoiding the question, Stiles.” 

“I haven’t read them.” Well, that wasn’t what he expected. Stiles had thrown himself into magic but hadn’t touched the second round of books in over a week? 

“Why?” 

“I- can’t. I can’t read them. I can’t read.” Peter let the silence speak for him and in a beat Stiles was sitting up, arms wrapped around his knees. “It’s like the words keep moving around and the letters don’t make sense and I can’t. I don’t know how to fix it.” 

“Stiles,” he had to be careful with how he continued, there was a panic attack on the rise if he misstepped “what were you going to ask me when you came to the apartment?” 

“I wasn’t-“ Peter crossed back over to the bed, sitting on the edge without touching.    
“Stiles, tell me. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”   
‘Yeah but- why  _ are  _ you helping me Peter?” 

“Honestly?” Lies had never worked with Stiles before and if he was to bring him into his pack in the future he needed the boy’s absolute trust. “You have the potential to be extremely powerful as an emissary and I want you to consider being mine in the future. But that can’t happen if you die or don’t have information at your disposal. So, tell me what you were going to ask about.”   
  


“Possession. I was going to ask about spirits and possession….” Peter finally placed his hand on Stiles’ back, not rubbing, just resting it there as he thought of what to say. 

“When did all this start?”   
“After the Darach when we did the ritual… Deaton said we opened a door.”   
Peter frowned and took a deep breath,  _ fucking druids.  _ “I want you to listen to me, very carefully. Tonight you’re going to sleep, I’ll stay here and make sure you don’t do anything after you fall asleep. Tomorrow I’m going to do a bit of researching and we’ll figure this out. In the meantime, stay around someone- if you have to sit in the sheriff’s office and read you’ll do it.” He didn’t have to ask if he was understood, he knew Stiles would listen if only because he was too rattled to do otherwise. 

In the morning he would make a few calls and drop in on an old acquaintance. The first step was determining if Stiles truly was possessed- though all evidence pointed to yes- then what it was and how to get rid of it. It was going to be a long week. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to volunteer to be a Beta Reader I would happily accept any offers, I know where I want this story to go but getting there smoothly (for you readers, certainly not for the characters) is the hard part.


	4. Chapter 4 : Old "Friends", New Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter makes a connection. Chris learns the importance of planning. Stiles get some well deserved rest.

“Derek, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Peter was sitting on the highest step of Stiles’ stairwell, phone pressed to his ear and far enough from Stiles’ room not to wake him. It wouldn’t do for him to wake up when he was finally getting a bit of rest. If he was right about the possession then there wouldn’t be much at all in the coming days. Sleep left one vulnerable, if the ritual Deaton had them perform was anything like what Peter suspected them Stiles’ mind was already susceptible and no matter how strong the teen’s spirit- and the wolf had no illusions about that strength- one could only fight for so long. But if not now then he would crash when the spirit was stronger and a little risk now was worth the certain loss later.     
“Get to the loft, Peter. There’s been an attack.”    
Never a single week could go by without something going awfully, terribly wrong. He really needed a vacation. One without torture. 

“By who?”    
“That’s what we can’t figure out, whatever they are they wear silver masks and disappear in the light. They got to Isaac at Argents place then showed up here.”    
“Did they kill him?” He wasn’t part of ‘The Pack’, those bonds with the teen wolves didn’t run through him but if the boy was dead he did want to know. He liked Isaac marginally more than the other betas. 

“No, just marked him. They, they got to me too. Look Can you just come?”    
“As much as I would love to swoop in and be your savior I’m busy at the moment. I’ll see what I can find for you and let you know what I can but right now I have other matters to attend. Goodnight, nephew.” he cast his gaze down the hall to Stiles’ room, walking quietly back to check in; the sheriff wouldn’t be home for another hour at least and leaving now wasn’t an option. Possession of any sort was serious, even a werewolf would balk at facing a demon. More than that he was a man of his word and he promised to stay. He slipped back inside and took possession of Stiles’ phone charger, if nothing else he could look into whatever was troubling his nephew. 

 

Never let it be said he wasn’t helpful.    
  


Stiles made a small noise, for a moment Peter thought he was waking though his heart hadn’t given any indications except he only turned and curled further under the cover. It had been a long time since Peter had sat vigil for anyone, Cora when she was in the hospital of course but she was blood and the circumstances had been less than optimal. Stiles… Stiles wasn’t blood or even truly pack but he was almost a friend. Too close for comfort and not close enough all the same. Peter had his trust enough to guard his life if not his secrets.  He shifted the blanket up higher over the teen’s shoulder. It would all come in time. 

The internet was decidedly unhelpful in his search for Derek’s mystery assailant but not entirely so. He had set an alarm for the time that the sheriff’s shift ended and after quickly silencing it he rose to leave. If something was to happen in the few minute gap between his departure from the Stilinski household and Noah’s arrival he would take the blame. It was only as he turned to give the sleeping teen one last look that a book caught his eye.    
_ Japan: A Guide To Mythology _

Something clicked. A long-buried memory that struggled to the surface, buried under ash and the cloudy waters of his subconscious. He was quick to get back to his car, heading downtown at a speed that would have been nerve-racking if he didn’t trust his own reflexes.  _ Christopher Argent.  _ All things in his life seemed to go back to that family, starting long before the fire and the history would end long after both he and the hunter in question were gone, he had no doubts of that. Allison, while not a girl he would ever have at his back did seem better than her predecessors - and wasn’t that bar just  _ exceptionally _ high - she still had a large capacity for cruelty and her will was changeable if strong. 

He pressed harder on the accelerator. There were answers within reach. He simply had to catch them. 

 

***

 

Tracking down who needed to be found was easy enough, getting face to face with him had proved impossible. Chris was good at what he did, he’d trained hunters and held his own against the most dangerous of creatures and while he had always followed in his own family the initiative and drive was there; but he was only human. Painfully so in this case. Things had been a blur since the first pistol whip that split the skin above his eye, he’d managed to get himself back to his car, arm wrapped around his cracked rib cage and every breath threatening to overwhelm him. The sun was just coming up and it was a small mercy that no one in his building was in the halls.

 

Allison would be home soon, he’d get himself patched up, lay down for an hour and he would be fine. He fumbled the keys, door frame cutting into his shoulder before it finally swung inward. If he could just get to the bathroom- he made it as far as three steps into the hall when his legs gave out and he hit the carpet with a grunt. It didn’t hurt as badly as he would have thought…   _ Just for a minute. Just to get my breath _ …

  
  
  
  


He woke in his own bed. 

 

The pain that had been white hot had faded into a dull all-over throb that flared red with every move he made to rise. He wasn’t a stranger to that kind of pain, it was greeted as an old friend so long as he kept his breaths measured he would make it through the day.  With careful movements he made it to the bathroom, hands pale against the white countertop. Looking into the mirror showed that the outward damage wasn’t so bad as he had feared. Cut above his eye, bruise blooming along his jaw, beneath his shirt was a mess of blue and black splotches and he winced as he pulled it back down.  
_Stupid. You nearly got yourself killed, Argent._

 

What had been done was done. Katashi would be harder to find but possible and he would take a day or so to recover and plan before attempting to meet with him again. He hadn’t had a plan. He would do better next time.

He made it into the hall and nearly to the living room before he realized that something was off. He should have noticed sooner,  _ would _ have noticed sooner if not for the exhaustion and pain in his bones. Allison’s light was off, as was the living room light. He took a step back, feeling for the gun strapped under the hall table. Someone had put him in bed. Allison wouldn’t have left him alone after finding him and Isaac, well. If Isaac was in Allison’s room with the lights off they would have some issues. He crept forward again, one hand steadying himself against the wall. There were very  _ very  _ few people who should have had access to his home.

 

“Care to share anything with the class, Christopher?”

_ Peter Hale _ . Of any one creature in the entire world it shouldn’t have been  _ him  _ lounging in one of the armchairs of his apartment, staring down the barrel of his gun as though Chris were the one acting unreasonably. It shouldn’t have been Peter Hale who picked him up off the floor and tucked him into bed. It shouldn’t have  _ ever _ been Peter. 

 

Chris should have put a bullet in him the moment he opened his mouth and he didn’t. The moment that the shadow had become more. When he had stepped out of the woods in a hoodie and an offer of showing him around…. He still could. It wouldn’t be a thing to do it except... he didn’t budge. Peter wasn’t here for a fight, at least he didn’t seem to be. He didn’t have to clean him up and help him if he was going to kill him. Then again, Peter’s mind was a labyrinth that he doubted even the ‘were knew how to completely navigate and no amount of time had changed that. 

 

He was hard to read, the fire turning him cold. As a young man Peter had been sharp, sarcastic, distant yes but there was honesty in his charm and his intentions had never been overtly malicious. After, well, Chris knew the danger in him, unpredictability was the wolf’s greatest strength; or his weakness. It made him hard to trust, even when he was sincere. If he was ever. He would make his point, sooner or later. 

“You haven’t taken a beating that hard since what? Summer of ‘96?” He raised the gun a little higher, trained on Peter’s forehead. “You aren’t going to shoot me, why dirty your hands when there is someone out there to do it for you? Without the mess. I hear they’re impossible to kill. Real smoke and mirrors.” 

 

“Peter.”    
  


“Why bloody your hands when there’s something out there ready to kill every wolf in this town? It’s what your family has  _ always  _ wanted isn’t it? Did you think no one would notice? That I wasn’t going to figure it out? Did you think they were here for you?  _ Oh, you did.  _ You should have known better than that, Christopher.” The wolf was on his feet now, prowling closer, eyes hinting at that alpha red and still, Chris didn’t pull the trigger. 

“They haven’t killed anyone yet.”    
“I remember you telling me about them. They don’t hunt humans. Yet, you thought it was  _ you  _ they were here for. Of course, ever the martyr. So long as it isn’t, precious, little, Allison.” One hand was placed on top of the pistol, pushing it slowly and surely down. Despite the eye flashing and the snarl in his voice Peter’s claws were sheathed. It shouldn’t have been a relief. 

 

“As long as it isn’t Allison everyone in this town could die, couldn’t they? Scott. Derek. Stiles can die and it’ll be easier that way. It’ll be easier because it won’t be you. Isn’t that it? Rather than blame the real menace, the ones that  _ caused  _ this as long as you don’t pull the trigger it’ll all be fine. Or maybe, You simply; don’t care.” 

“I care.” He gritted out. He did, maybe not the way he would if it was Allison on the end of the sword but he did. Even if it  _ was  _ him they were after it would be better than Allison. Peter was right about that. 

 

“Like you did years ago?”    
and there was the hint of fang that Chris was waiting for all along. The snarl, curled lip, and tiny head tilt that was all Peter. Was that really what this was all about? Peter’s hurt pride? He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. 

 

“Why do you care, Peter? Stiles is human. He’s safe.” At least, the last time Chris had seen him he had been human. He was sure he’d have heard if the Stilisnki boy had been turned. That wasn’t a secret one could keep long. 

 

“He’s possessed. If the Oni are here then it’s a Nogitsune and we both know that they will kill him. Painfully.” There was something he wasn’t seeing. Stiles being possessed wasn’t good, in fact if it had to be anyone he would be the last person Chris would want to see possessed. He was too clever by half and that mind at the disposal of a chaos spirit… there had to be something more. Peter wouldn’t be involved otherwise.

 

“Why do you care?” 

 

“He’s pack.”   
  


“He’s part of Scott’s pack. Not yours.” Peter had no pack. He was a step above omega.   
  


“He. Is. Pack.”

 

The gun was slipped from his grasp, safety clicked back on and the thunk it made against the carpet was loud even over his own heartbeat. Another too long silence stretched out until; 

 

“I cared.”   
“Prove it.” 

 

***

 

Peter hadn’t come to reopen old wounds, to dig out feelings that should have been burned out with the rest of him. That should have died with everything else he held dear. He had come for answers. To help protect the boy who would be his emissary and who was, tentatively, a friend. Nothing more. But the closer he got, gunpowder and spice and wolfsbane clouding his senses and promising things he was always told he couldn’t have, well. He would get his answers one way or another. 

 

_ I cared.  _

 

_ He cared. He cared?  _ No, that didn’t work, that was a sorry way of apologizing if that was even what it was. It wasn’t the answer to the question Peter asked. It wasn’t what his  _ truth  _ was. But two could play this game, it was nothing more than a very intense game of chicken. A round of cat and mouse where neither played the part of mouse. There was nothing to lose and nothing to gain except the empty victory of a band-aid for a wound that didn’t bleed.

 

His words were spiteful; taunting. 

“Prove it.” 

 

Chris was fast, not supernaturally so but even to a werewolf he was quick, strong, and silent enough to surprise. Peter had option but to turn with the movement of the hunter, hurt as he was Chris was a sturdy weight as he was pushed against the wall, mouth angled into a kiss that was more violence than passion. Fangs sliced Christopher’s lip, the copper tang of blood drawing a deep growl from Peter’s own chest, clawed hands raising to slice through fabric, thin lines drawn over his shoulders, down his back. The man broke away with a gasp, pulling back enough to draw deep breaths but his weight was still leaned against the wolf. Blood was smeared around his mouth painting a pretty picture of animalistic hunger and human lust. Peter wanted to ruin him. 

 

“You look good in red.”  Peter licked the hunter’s blood from his own lips, hips canting up against the thigh wedged between his own. He was going to Hell and he was sure as fuck going to enjoy the ride down. It didn’t take much to flip their positions, staring. He would ruin the hunter, he would have him begging by the end.    
  


Outside the apartment keys jangled, Peter growled. 

“Fuck you, Hale.”    
‘No. I don’t think you will.” 

 

The door handle turned, Chris’s heart ratcheted up, and Peter slipped back. “Think about it, Christopher. Do make a decision this time.” 

He left the way he came in, passing Allison by with a smile. 

 

***

 

“What was  _ Peter  _ doing here?” Chris had scrambled to straighten himself out as soon as Peter pulled away. Wiping furiously to get the blood off his face before Allison demanded an explanation for that as well. There was nothing to be done for the shirt.

“He had some information about the situation, I’ll explain everything but first I need to shower.” He nods once, squeezing her shoulder before making as hasty an escape as he can. 

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just a hard day.” 

 

***

 

Stiles woke up feeling the best he had in weeks. His dad was in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee. “How are you feeling, son?” There was a long pause, Stiles thinking exactly what he would say. 

 

“I’m better.” 

 

“Melissa says she has an opening at the hospital if you wanted to do the scan just in case.” The lines around the sheriff’s eyes were deeper, worry rather than laughter carving them into his face,  the shadows longer, and there was a slump to his shoulders no one would ever see. He was there though, and that was more than Stiles thought he could ever have again. 

 

“Yeah, dad. Just in case.” Being pulled into a hug, held like he was still just a kid whose dad loved and worried over rather than someone who had lied and snuck around and broken his father’s trust, was a feeling he would trade the world for if it would last a little longer. It was just a scan. Just in case it wasn’t some supernatural cause. 

 

Everything would be fine. 


	5. Chapter 5 : Tests

“Derek.” His nephew should have heard his approach yet he startled. Concern welled up for a moment, something was bothering him enough to miss things that he should never have missed. He pushed that concern aside. He and Derek weren’t on the ‘prying into each other’s lives’ stage of their family rebonding. Perhaps they never would be. Still he had to ask. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“If you insist. As for our problem I think I found the source. They’re japanese demon warriors. Harmless so long as you aren’t the prey they’re sent after. These in particular are tasked with hunting down another demon spirit, one possessing someone in Beacon Hills, hence, why they’re doing some sort of sweep on all our supernatural residents. They’re tools, less malicious beings and more  supernatural guard dogs on the hunt. They have one goal and will cut down anything in the way of it.”   
“The demon.”

“Yes.”

 

There was a long moment where it felt as though Derek was looking for something in him before his nephew asked. “Do you know who they’re after?” 

“I have my suspicions.” 

“Peter, I don’t have time for your cryptic _ bullshit _ .” 

“I truly am not sure, Derek. I do have a suspicion but I will not say it until I’m sure. You never know who to trust these days. There are ears everywhere.” he couldn’t risk putting Stiles in danger, not yet, though he was nearly a hundred percent sure that he was the one the Oni were after, that there was far more than just his mind playing tricks on him, he wouldn’t have the pack attempting to ‘save him’. Not when they couldn’t even save themselves. “Will you believe me if I say that the moment I know for sure, and that it is safe, I will tell you?” 

“Why?” 

“Believe it or not, nephew, I do care about more than myself.” 

 

*

[from: Stalkerwolf] How do you feel?

[to: Stalkerwolf] Okay. I’m going to the hospital for an MRI. I’ll let you know when I’m out?

 

Stiles turned the phone off and handed over to his dad. The hospital wasn’t exactly a place he was ever comfortable with. Even before his mom had gotten sick the too white halls, lack of smell, the crushing presence of sadness that permeated the very foundation. Add in the needles, constant beeping of machines, and the generally scratchy sheets it was a recipe for disaster. After  _ her  _ it was so much worse. It didn’t matter if it was the same hospital or one across the country they were all the same. Haunted by fear and pain and the horrible sound of a heart monitor that stopped too soon and not soon enough. 

His fists clenched in the ‘fabric’ of the gown. Really, whoever made the textile should be forced to wear it for the rest of their life. 

Stiles said as much aloud. 

 

Though his dad hadn’t always been there, even when he was, Stiles would forever be thankful that he cared. So many people couldn’t say the same. “I’m sure karma got him good, son.” The hand on his shoulder was warm, strong, and not shaking like he almost expected. Stiles was scared yeah, but his dad was rightfully  _ terrified.  _ Melissa had said it would only be a few minutes before someone would take them down. She also said Scott was on his way. “It’s going to be okay.” 

“I know.” 

“Hey, who’s supposed to be supporting who here?” 

 

Stiles reply was stopped by Scott coming in and not a minute after that another nurse to take him down. “Hey, it’s going to be fine.”

“Everyone keeps saying that. I just. I’m glad you’re here, Scott.” 

“Like I would be anywhere else.” 

Sitting alone with Scott before the scan was going to start the entire bubble that Stiles had been feeling for weeks now bubbled up and he shook as Scott hugged him. He needed it. He needed his best friend because when nothing ever made since he had always  _ always been there _ and vice versa. 

“It’s going to be okay.”

“What if it’s not? What if I’m sick? What if all of this is just the beginning?” 

“Then we deal with it. There’s options Stiles, we’ll be fine. We’ve been through more than this.” With a squeeze Stiles let go and Scott left the room. 

It was just a test. Nothing to be scared off. They happened all the time. “I’m going to start the machine now, just breathe and try to relax.” Relax. Yeah. He took a steadying breath and closed his eyes as the panel moved forward, the clanking of the machine filling his ears and his hands tensed before he willed them to relax. Nothing was going to happen here. Scott, his dad, a whole host of doctors were just beyond that door. Nothing was going to happen. 

 

The machine grew louder but rather than the clanking of metal moving around him it sounded far too much like words. Almost but not quite. His breathing kicked up a notch. Heart spiking.  _ Stiles. Stiles. Stiles.  _ it was just his imagination. He was still sleep deprived. He’d been under a lot of stress. “Stiles.” Something wasn’t right. 

He raised his head, “Mom?” 

“Yeah honey, it’s me.” 

And suddenly he was a little kid again. She wasn’t affected, she was how he remembered her from the photos on the walls, when she would wrap him in her arms while they baked in the kitchen and sang to him in a language he knew but didn’t always understand. He stumbled forward until he was able to fall against her, voice wracked with emotion “ _ Mom.”  _

“What’s wrong, Mieczyslaw?” 

“I miss you. I miss you so much.” 

“I’m right here,” slim hands stroked his hair “I’ve always been here.” 

“No. No, you died. I-“ the at the moment around him braced tighter as he shook, 

“You what? I’ve been right here ever since you killed me.” 

He gasped, the hands on him suddenly more like claws, pulling, crushing him and forcing him to struggle for every breath “No. I didn’t. I didn’t” 

“You killed me. You killed me and it’s your fault.  _ Everything was because of you.  _ You forced me into this hospital. You couldn’t stop  _ lying  _ about me.” 

“No! You aren’t her! You aren’t real!” He fought, pushing his hands between their bodies and shoving, twisting back until he felt something strain in him and he fell backwards. Staring up at the  _ thing  _ he had thought was his mother he knew he had been wrong. So very wrong. But it  _ was  _ her just the same. The benevolent smile, dark hair, the way she held her arm out to beckon him closer. It was her. And then it wasn’t. Fingers tipped black, smile too sharp, words cruel but that wasn’t entirely made up. It was her end wrapped in the beginning.  

He crawled backwards to put distance between them, he was funnily struck by remembering the movie Coraline. This was his fake mother. But the fear and the pain. That was all too real. 

“I’m real. As real as you Mieczyslaw”

“Don’t call me that!” He ran. Tripping over his own feet as he scrambled up, the hospital was half shadowed, lights flickering but becoming steadier the further he ran. Everything was gone. It was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of lack of noise that is oppressive in its own right, bearing down on you and screaming how ‘not right’ everything was. It was the kind of quiet that came with a disaster, when the animals all ran and you were the last thing living in what would become a wasteland. 

He kept running. Tan uniform, short hair, commanding stance.  _ Dad _ . He called out, skidding straight into the man’s chest, no matter what happened his dad was safe. The nightmares, the pain, the memories and things he didn’t know how to handle his dad always did. He’d held him out of this. 

“Where have you been?” The slap was unexpected and tears spring into his eyes, forcing him to shrink back, one hand cradling his cheek. 

“Dad-“

“All you ever do is fucking  _ lie _ . Your worthless, you should be ashamed of yourself. You mother was right to hate you.” He advanced on him again, pulling him in by the flannel and snarling in his face. “I never wanted you. She didn’t either but we thought it’d be  _ nice  _ to have a kid around. But we got  _ you.  _ A lying,”  _ shove  _ “worthless”  _ smack “ _ stupid, ungrateful, delinquent who can’t even  _ breathe  _ without fucking something in my life up!” Alcohol filled his senses, making him dizzy with the stench of it. 

“No.”

“You think I’m wrong? Where were you? What did you do?” He was screaming now and no one did anything. So many people just watching. Waiting. No one ever _said_ anything. 

“No. Nonono no no I didn’t-“ his face hurt l, he wanted to go home, this was just a nightmare. You woke up from nightmares. “Wake up. Wake up wake up” he sunk down the wall, arms over his head to protect himself from any more blows. Somewhere a wolf growled and something clanged. “Stiles” 

“Wake up, wake up, it’s a dream” 

“Answer the question, Stiles. Give it to me and this can end. Your friends can live.” Something warm splattered his face. “Everyone has it but no one can lose it.” He raised his head. “Come on.” Blood gurgled from fresh wounds, running down and staining the shining star on his dad’s chest. His Own seized. Choking replaces his own heartbeat in his ears, hands that had held and soothed in the waking world raised to clutch at Noah’s neck, or, what was left of it. As if that could stop the staggering, make him stop losing blood faster than he fell to the floor, eyes growing dim. “No!” 

“Just. Let me in. Answer. Me.” 

“Please, please. Make it stop!” Around him blue eyes glowed bright, fangs over the throats and claws on the bellies of Derek, Lydia, Allison, Scott, everyone he cared about, even Peter was being held down, passive under the threat of death, claws pricking against his throat. The wolves around him were massive, twisted, tar black figures that snarled and dripped saliva through their jaws. 

“Everyone has it!”  More blood dripped to the floor. “But no one can lose it!” Shadows grew up the walls, separating, reaching out.

“It’s a shadow!.” 

“Very good.” 

He opened his eyes. 

 

*

“Stiles, where is he?” Noah was panicking, to a passerby there was concern but he was terrified. His hands shook at his sides and his chest grew tight. “Where’s my son?” 

Then the screaming started. Reeling from the MRI scan, at seeing his worst nightmare repeating itself in the only thing he had left then Stiles disappearing on top of it… the sheriff was stretched thin. Then the power went out for good. 

 

He prayed.

 

It didn’t stop the chaos. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not sure how I feel about this chapter? comments are appreciated but not necessary. I' glad y'all have stuck with me so far in.


	6. Chapter 6 : Find Him

“Stiles is missing.” 

 

Peter’s chest clenched. “For how long?”  _ It’s too soon, we don’t know enough. I needed more time before this.  _

“A few hours…about seven according to the Sheriff; he’s the nogitsune isn’t he?” The words sounded wrong. Hesitant. As though Derek couldn’t believe it. Really, on one hand Peter could understand, Stiles wasn’t someone who inspired fear just by looking at him but on the other… the boy had pulled Derek from more sticky situations that he or any other member in the pack seemed to give credit. Even as a mere human he was dangerous. 

 

“Yes. He is.” No denying it now. Coincidences never happened and especially not in Beacon Hills. 

“I’m going to the hospital now to see if I can track him.”  _ click.  _ A man of so many words, his nephew.

 

He sometimes missed the talkative Derek he used to know. The boy who ran into the living room when he finished a book at eight years old begging anyone to take him to town for the next one. Then he became unfortunately and intensely aware of what words his nephew would hold for him and did not miss it one bit. The few they exchanged now were more than enough. Derek wouldn't forgive him, not for a long time, if ever, and he could live with that. The sheer animosity had dissipated some but if short calls and angry eyebrows were all he had to live with he could deal with it. He was useful. In some ways that was better than being liked. 

In the meantime there were more important things to focus on then repairing a broken relationship that half the party didn’t want repaired. 

 

“Christopher.” he spoke fast before the hunter could hang up, “Stiles is missing.” Silence on the end of the line. Peter let it happen, waiting it out. 

“What are you going to do?”

“Find him, clearly. What are you going to do?”   _ Are you going to hunt him or save him?  _

“I don’t know.”   
“Then help me.” The words are a shock to them both. ‘ _ Help me. I’m sorry. It was my fault _ .’ words that one would never expect to hear from Peter Hale.   
He couldn’t allow Chris to kill Stiles, and he thought the hunter would in order to protect ‘the world’, and having him as an ally would make his own search go much faster. “There’s no point in sidelining a good asset and you do know how to track near as well as a wolf, with your equipment and my knowledge of the preserve” because surely that was the boy’s destination, the Nemeton, the vastness of it, if you needed to disappear there was no where better. “we should be able to find him within the day.” The silence stretched out.  

“Fine. I’ll meet you at the Preserve in an hour.” 

With that piece in play Peter hung up. A nogitsune running wild in Beacon Hills was trouble for everyone, if anyone asked him; that was his motivation. He didn’t want to see his home in ruins, no matter how little peace he felt in it any longer.    
  
His hand dropped back to the book in his lap, tracing over the words lightly.  _  the mind collapses...And few survive the initial possession after a period upwards of a few weeks.  _

 

He shut the book.

*

 

“Where are you going?”    
“I’m going to help find Stiles!”    
“Allison, I want you to stay here. I know this is important which is why I’m going out there now to look for him but I need you to either stay here or go to the hospital, no in betweens.”

“Dad, I can’t just do nothing!”  She was the matriarch and he deferred to her far too often but not on this.

 

“Isaac is in the hospital, go stay with him. That’s not nothing. What’s going on with Stiles is big, he’s got an entire town looking out for him. Isaac needs you more.” He needed to know she was safe, as safe as she could be in Beacon Hills with a demon running around at least. 

“Okay, I can do that. But you’ll let me know if you find him.” It wasn’t a request and that made Chris smile. He was so proud of her, even if he wasn’t sure how to always show it. 

“Of course.” he pressed a kiss to her forehead and she smiled. “I’ll call you the moment we find him.”  _ If. We find him.  _

 

He loaded his bag in the back of the four runner and leaned against its side, “Noah.”    
“Chris.” he sounded tired and Chris was suddenly very aware of what the man had gone through in the past year alone. He couldn’t imagine living his life in the dark only to be forced into the sun so suddenly. “I take it you know.”    
“Yeah, I’m heading to the preserve now actually. I just thought you should know, if you need anything call me.”    
“Thanks, Chris… tell me something. Is this supernatural. Do you know?”    
  


“I think it is.” there was no reply, only a long sigh before the phone call ended.

 

The preserve was Beacon Hills’ most redeeming factor, acres of undisturbed woodland and magic deep in the soil. Even as a teenager Chris had spent time on it, despite his father’s strict guidelines that the wolves on the preserve weren’t to be trusted. The few times he had been caught out he played it under guise of mapping the woods for future hunts. Eventually it came to that in truth but such things weren’t what he needed to be focussed on then. Peter’s car was already pulled to the side of the gravel clearing but the wolf himself was nowhere to be seen. 

 

Chris began unloading what he needed, his desert eagle was strapped to his side, it was more firepower than he needed but the weapon was a comfort, especially if he was out with Peter Hale. A bullet might not stop the Oni but it sure would stop a wolf.

A branch snapped behind him and his hand curled around the crossbow in the trunk and spun. 

 

“This is becoming quite familiar, Christopher.” 

“What are you doing?”    
  


“Trying to catch a scent.” the wolf was barefoot, jeans and shirt plainer than his everyday wear and mud was spattered over the cuffs of his jeans. Chris was half surprised the wolf was wearing a shirt. “Nothing yet. Now will you please put the bow down?”

“Maybe in a minute. Why are we out here?”

 

“Because no one knows these woods better than I do and you know how monsters think. Now, can we get going before it gets the idea we’re looking for him?”

The idea that Peter would turn his back to him, would allow and Argent behind him at all was insane and when Peter turned and walked back to the trees Chris was rattled. Surely he wasn’t trusted, but Peter wasn’t arrogant enough to set aside his survival instinct. It left Chris to follow him, night goggles firmly in place. Peter was right that they were the best suited to patrol the preserve but that didn’t mean he didn’t have ulterior motives. The wolf always had another motive. Catching up to Peter was easy enough though the wolf fell back to his side rather than keep him at his back. 

  
The paths they were taking took them in a wide circle, weaving in and back out until Peter froze, lips parting as he drew in a deep breath. Scanning the ground he finds a trail, leaves brushed up and disturbed. Two fingers held up, he pointed and then nodded to the northeast. Peter narrowed his eyes. Even when they were young, not so much the Wolf and the Hunter but  _ a  _ wolf and hunter Peter had never shut up. He liked to talk but it was a different kind of talking than he did now. Still manipulative but now it was crueler, sharper, back then it was cunning and fun. Chris didn’t know why he did anything anymore. He didn’t understand why he himself did much anymore either. 

“The scent goes west.” 

“We aren’t splitting up.”

“Agreed. We’re following the scent trail.”

 

“No. There’s no guarantee that it’s not fake.”

“Oh, and leaves with no scent behind them is more plausible?”

 

“Listen, Hale.” Chris rose from his crouch, eye level with the wolf. “I know what I can see, a real trail is harder to fake than a scent trail, there’s no guarantee he didn’t double back or knew you or Derek or Scott would be coming out here. I say we follow this first.” he pointed out the path, there was no telling if Peter would acquiesce or remain stubborn and he kept his heart steady as he stared the wolf down. 

“Fine.” 

Chris stepped to one side of the trail while Peter followed on the other, only about a foot separated them. 

 

_ Whatever it’s doing it’s not random. It’s old, it’s powerful, no one needs to go at it alone. If Stiles is still alive, and that’s a big if, is he worth saving if it costs us the whole town? Why the preserve? Surely there’s more trouble to be caused if he went- _

Hands gripped his shoulder, jerking him back harshly and he’s already turning to attack whatever it is that’s grabbed him when he stumbled and falls into Peter. His elbow jams into the wolf’s abdomen, punching a sharp grunt from Peter but that’s all the damage that seems to occur. There’s no snarling, no claws, nothing to suggest an attack. Only the wolf who was putting bruises in his skin..

 

“What-”

 

*

“What the  _ hell _ ?” 

Peter shoved the hunter off of his body, letting him fall into the tree roots twisted at their side without ceremony. “You’re welcome.” He climbed to his feet brushing his hands off on his jeans and crouching back to study the trap. The air filled with the scent of anger, a bitter smell not unlike that of burning lint. It was all encompassing and he fought back a snarl. “Saving your life.” His claws pricked, fangs itched against his gums.  _ Ungrateful hunters. _ “Someone’s been busy.” 

 

He felt Chris stand and rose as well, unable to allow the hunter above him. 

“Move, I’ll disable it.” 

“No.”    
“Peter, move.”    
“If you value your life you will step back before I rip your throat out, Christopher.” 

 

There was a scent under that of the woods, a wolf had been over the land, not of any pack he knew. It was hell on his senses and paired with the anger coming from Chris, well, he’d never been one to deny his wolf what it wanted. But here he needed to. “There’s been a wolf through here, recently.” he curled one hand into a fist before breathing deeply, “Disable it. I’ll be back.” The scent was faded, still fresh enough to be a few days old at most. He doesn’t allow Chris time to protest and takes off. 

The trail takes him around for about ten minutes before he loses it, he finds another trap and sets it off using a tree branch before looping back to Chris. 

“Let’s go back. We aren’t going to find him out here.” The nogistune was older and stronger than he had originally thought and it was clear to him that there wasn’t much they could do but wait and hope they could out trick a trickster. Or that Stiles could. For once the Woods didn’t feel like home. 

 

*

 

Everything was different, when you were in control of your own body things simply happened, y’know? You could move through life and it could be as fuzzy, disorganized, and ignored as you desired. Life went on, you fell into your routine, you  _ lived  _ and you were never as aware of it. But when it was taken from you? When that control was pulled away and you were forced to take a backseat? Then you became hyper aware of it all. 

 

Stiles could feel each grain of dirt that rubbed into his hands, the bite of cold metal as they disarmed, carried, rearmed, and covered each trap. The way the wire twisted and caught on the edges of his fingers, dragging against the fingerprints he’d never been aware of having. It was all perfectly clear. The moon, the trees, the sirens that cut through the air, the screaming. He wished it was like the movies. _ I don’t remember being possessed, it’s just a blank space in time, I don’t remember the feeling of absolute glee when the  _ thing  _ twisted that blade in the poor receptionist’s chest.  _ Oh he wished it was just dark. Instead Void- because a creature so old had to call itself something and the sheer absence of it all felt right- Void liked to talk. He liked to bring Stiles back into the moment that wasn’t his and force him to bear witness to the plans put together with hands he couldn’t control.    
  


“What do you think,  _ Mieczyslaw,  _ should we aim higher?” Here in his own mind the rasping voice of the spirit was different than before. Here it took on another form, one that was dark and shifting and terrifying in a totally different way than the bandaged soldier, yes, he knew, inhabiting the same consciousness with another being memories couldn’t always be hidden. Even for the party doing the controlling. Here the voice was like smoke, a low and twisting thing that was everywhere and nowhere all at once. It curled and coaxed and grated. 

  
“I told you not to call me that.”   
“But names are  _ so _ very important.” The thing wanted pain. The more pain and chaos the better.    
“If you aim higher whoever is hit is just going to die. No suffering for you there.”

 

He was awake when Chris and Peter came through the Preserve, watching them try to find him. He watched Peter save Chris and there was a twist in his gut that had nothing to do with the hunger his body was surely experiencing. Void latched onto it with a vengeance. “The wolf is important to you? But you  _ killed him _ , yes? He knew about me, far before I was freed. I remember his soul. I think we’ll have some fun with him.” He didn’t expand further.

 

“Are you familiar with the game of Go?”    
“No.”   
“Let’s see if you can learn.” 

 

When it comes to the bomb he rails, through it all he had accepted the momentary loss of control, giving it up and using the weightlessness of it to plan and maybe  _ maybe  _ he could break free when it counted but as he watched the box seal… 

“You promised he’d be safe! You swore! You can’t do this!”

“I only said that your friends could live and they have.”    
His fingers twitched, tearing the paper away if only so slightly and victory rang through him before an unholy roar filled his mind and all that he could see was black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know where this is all going, I swear, but uh, gods have mercy on me this is gonna be such a long ride.


	7. Chapter 7 : Omega

Going back to the apartment was a disappointing affair, though Chris hadn’t really expected to find Stiles the lack of headway was a bitter thing. Beyond that; the entire evening with Peter was a series of confusing bits of time that swirled into a feeling of being off kilter. The usual animosity was missing- barring the feral edge Peter had taken after the bear trap incident- and it was almost as though the history between them was forgettable. He knew better than that, of course, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t a feeling. The idea that they needn’t forever be on edge simply because the other was living.   
When Peter had become an alpha Chris expected the wolf to begin building a pack immediately. Previous experience showed it was his first go to point. Peter was feral the first time around but it was still an ingrained instinct- Chris wasn’t always sure the wolf wasn’t _still_ feral- he always seemed more wolf than man- that Peter hadn’t even taken a step in that direction was more worrying to the hunter than if he _had_ started building a pack to rival Seattle’s.   
Except there was Stiles, who Peter claimed as pack so vehemently Chris might’ve thought the boy had taken the bite. 

“How’d it go?” Allison looked so hopeful that he couldn’t help but lay a hand on her shoulder and squeeze as he passed by. There was a still warm cup of coffee on the other side of the table for him and he held it gratefully.

“No luck, but we'll find him. I want you to be careful at school the next few day, okay? First sign of anything off and you have permission to leave and come home." Her life was far more important than her education. "There were bear traps out on the preserve and I don’t want to risk something happening at school too, whether it's the nogitsune's doing or something else. How was Isaac?”

“They won’t tell us anything but Scott’s mom said she would let us in tomorrow to see him.” 

“That’s nice of her, I’m sure Isaac will be fine in a few weeks at the most.”  
  
“Yeah… hey Dad?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, “Now get some sleep.” 

 

Chris walked into his office and pulled out the Oni mask, letting his fingertips rest lightly against the surface. He needed to find Katashi… if not for his own sake then for that of his daughter. She was brilliant and fierce and she wasn’t going to let Stiles die because that’s simply how loyal she was. It was everything he could want from her and it was terrifying. He couldn’t always protect her but he would damn sure try. 

 

*

 

The teasingly familiar scent lingered in Peter’s nose long after he left the preserve. Driving along the backroads with his windows down, letting the cool night air chase away the harsh thoughts. The complete failure to find Stiles was one that did nothing to calm the rising frustration at it all and he needed the distractions of the road. He made it to the apartment in twice the time he normally would have.

 

He locked his car, stepped out, and took a deep breath to calm his nerves.   
  


_ Omega. Intruder. Fire.  _

_  
_ Walking across the parking lot of the apartment complex he caught it again. It wasn’t random. There was a wolf in the territory and it was following him. If not him in particular then the pack at a whole. That certainly wasn’t much better. The scent wasn’t tinged with the dark feral scent of those wolves that had lost themselves but it was fearful and anxious and the wolf in the back of his own mind snarled in response; angry and maybe even protective in a twisted way. It was fresh enough to trace… fresh enough for the omega to still be lingering. 

 

Peter walked on. He took the stairs rather than the elevator and took his time entering the apartment. He didn’t seem to be followed which was both odd and relieving. The apartment complex itself was a quiet one, good insulation, no nosy neighbors, it was something Peter had and would always give a lot for. During the coma, he’d been subjected to every manner of privacy invasions and all too aware of what was going on in the other patients and nurses lives. He cherished what too many took for granted.  
The place wasn’t a home, a den perhaps with how it was filled with books and the light scent of warm sugar from the pastries he bought every few days, but it was his place and his alone. He left the shoes he’d been wearing, a pair of sneakers that would never see the light of day, in the corner of the bathroom and dropped the muddied jeans and t-shirt with them. He washed his face first, using the time to calm and relax, chasing last of the scents of stress and anxiety and anger away, putting thoughts of Stiles and Argent out of his mind before dropping his briefs and stepping under the spray of the shower.

 

_ Stiles needs you, you should be out there. You can find him, he’s pack, he’s your emissary, he’s going to make your pack strong. You need him. He’s a Spark. He pack. He’s hurting.  _

  
His wolf was trying to force itself up to the surface, howling and snarling and angry at him, but he hadn’t survived because he gave in to his wolf on every whim. Many, but not all. Before the fire he had been exceptionally in tune with the wolf, thoughts blending seamlessly and control just flexible enough to make him lethal. During his time in the long-term care ward, it had been an ever shifting battle that the wolf won more often than the man; as demonstrated by the events that followed his waking. His resurrection had changed things yet again and while not ruled entirely by the wolf the man wasn’t always in control either. The balance was returning but it was slow. It took effort and time he didn’t really have. Time he needed. Now he was fighting to keep his own thoughts level. 

 

_ You can’t help him if you’re dead which you surely will be if you take on a Nogitsune. Let Christopher and the pups do the grunt work. _

 

The warm water was soothing tension he wasn’t even aware of, he tipped his head back to wash his hair.  _ Chris… he’s only gotten sharper over the years. It’s not surprising really, but for a human, dear lord his chest.  _ Those were dangerous thoughts, a different kind of dangerous than the kind of thoughts that had more recently been associated with the hunter and the Argents as a whole . Those were the thoughts of a dreamer who thought love conquered all and there was hope of an ending that didn’t paint their blood on the walls. 

 

Yet still, the man had aged well and a bit of fun never hurt anyone… he slid a hand down his chest, nails dragging against his own skin before splaying his fingers wide and reaching to wrap them around h- there was a knock on the apartment door. He nearly ignored it, _ but it could be Stiles…  _

It wasn’t worth the risk of ignoring it. Peter stepped from the shower, toweled off with quick swipes and pulled sleep pants on to answer the door. He glanced through the peephole, whoever was on the other side certainly wasn’t Stiles. The door kept him from being able to scent the stranger so he bit down the annoyance that came from being interrupted and pulled open the door. 

“You.” his eyes flared red and immediately he fisted a hand in the omega’s shirt, moving forward in two long strides and slamming him against the hallway wall, claws of his other hand pricking the vulnerable skin of his throat. “Why are you following me?” 

He inhales again, staring into startled blue eyes it hits him why the omega was so very familiar. The hints of honey and cinnamon sugar underneath the  _ fire, lonely, scared  _ bitterness. Recognition didn’t equate to surrender. 

The younger wolf didn’t struggle much under Peter’s claws, his pulse was rapid and there was a tremble to him that betrayed his fear, over all of that was the way the wolf submitted to him, throat bared and eyes half closed. Accepting. It did wonders for his instincts. 

“I- I need an alpha. I don’t want trouble.” outside the beginning stutter the baker’s voice was surprisingly stable despite the pressure on his windpipe. Peter slowly drew back. Maybe the evening wouldn’t be a complete waste. But whatever was to follow wasn't a scene for the hallway.

 

“Come inside.”

 

There was hesitation in the young wolf’s steps, he slunk inside like a kicked dog and hesitated even when Peter motioned for him to take a seat on one of the kitchen chairs. He didn’t need his upholstery holding the omega’s scent after all. Now that he was able to look at the wolf it was more than clear that he wasn’t in any shape to cause anyone harm, at least not Peter.  After pulling a shrt on he took up a seat across from the other man.

 

“It’s Lucien, right? Okay. Talk.” 

“I need an alpha. Hunters took out half of the pack and scattered the rest of us just a week ago. All of Gionni's pack. They burned out my shop, the pack houses, everything. We weren’t that close compared to others and self preservation won out for most I guess. I can’t keep running, I can’t be an omega.”   
Peter studied Lucien, taking in his appearance, his scent, heartbeat. Anything that might suggest his appearance was a set up. The man looked to be in his mid to late twenties if Peter had to guess, unruly pale blond hair, strong jaw, and stood a few inches taller than Peter. He had a lean look about him and his expression was earnest. Desperate. 

“Why did you come here, why not go to the other San Francisco pack?”    
“Rhodes won’t take me in.” 

 

“And why not?” Jack had always been a man to lend someone a hand, why he wouldn’t take in an omega who seemed as gentle souled as the one across from him was beyond Peter. Then his eyes flared bright blue. “The Rhodes’ pack doesn’t let in wolves with blue eyes.” The young man nodded slightly and Peter found himself faced with a decision. He was a lot of things but he liked to think a hypocrite wasn’t one of them.

 

“I know you don’t know me and you have no reason to take me in but I’d heard Gionni talk about the Hales and your family and you and I had hoped that maybe you could give me a chance. Or let me stay in the territory until I can find somewhere to go if you don’t want me. I’d understand.” he looked like he may cry if Peter so much as said ‘no’, but beneath the vulnerability, there was a strength in him. He could be an asset, even if it only as another flimsy line of defense. 

 

“You can stay. You have to know that I don’t have a pack yet, you would be the first, and there is currently danger here in Beacon Hills that could cost you your life if you get involved.” 

“I’m okay with that.” 

Just a little bite and he’d have a pack… a small one but the bonds would be there. He rose and started a pot of coffee, the blond’s scent was beginning to mellow and he was eager to chase the bitterness from the air. “Tell me your history, Lucien. Where do you come from, what have you done, why am I your first option as Alpha.” 

 

“I’m technically from South Carolina but my family moved around a lot, we moved to California when I was about 16. I had a little sister but she died a year after we moved here… car accident. After that well, I graduated and ended up joining the military as a medic. I got out five years ago, went back to the pack and opened up my bakery. I just got tired of seeing all the bloodshed, y’know? As for being here well, Rhodes won’t take me for my eyes, Satomi won’t take me in because I was Marco’s beta. I don’t think I have to tell you he wasn’t well  liked.

I thought that, from what I’d heard you would be willing to let me join and well. You’re strong, with the way the world is going I need a pack that is going to be strong.” 

 

_ Respectable.  _ Peter couldn’t say the reasoning was unsound. “You’re sure of your decision?” His voice was tinged with the low authority of an alpha, a slight rumble to the usual lilting words. There were some traditions even Peter fell into to, some that the adherence to was more than a way of doing things, that held importance to both alpha and beta. He held the omega’s gaze and waited, though he needn’t wait long.

“Yes. I’m sure of my decision to join the Hale pack, Alpha.” 

Lucien bared his throat but didn’t close his eyes as Peter came close, there was a hint of fear there and Peter recalled the one time he had met a new member of the late-Gionni’s pack. The way the bite was ragged and slow to heal. He wrapped fingers around the man’s wrist and lifted it to his mouth. There’s a beat of silence, then he sinks his fangs into the skin of his forearm, he doesn’t go very deep, only an inch at most where the fragile pack bond flared in the back of his mind and blood coated his lips. He pulled back and wrapped a dish towel around the wound.  

 

He had a pack.

-

He set his beta up in a hotel in Beacon Hills until he was able to find a more permanent residence to stay. Pack didn't equal automatic trust on Peter's part and the blond seemed to understand that which was a blessing in itself. Peter would have to tell Derek sooner or later so there wouldn't be trouble but that was a few days off at least. For the rest of the evening he retired, exhaustion catching him by surprise the moment Lucien left. He would have to start working on strengthening the bond once Stiles was found... 

*

 

"I don't know where I've been or what I've been doing, but I know I have this. Scott, something bad is going to happen; we have to stop it." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went in and added names to the chapter titles, if you have an opinion on it let me know. If you guys like the naming system I'll keep it up if you prefer just the chapter numbers I'll go back to that. If you don't care, tell me your favorite type of dog or cat - better yet provide photos. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with it, more chapter updates to come soon (and maybe a few one-shots looking back into Chris and Peter's past...)


	8. Chapter 8

 

There was nothing he could do. Watching the relief overtake Scott’s face, the way his body was pulled into a hug. Void was taunting him, touching Scott more than usual and even the twins, laughing at every burst of rage that it pulled from his host. 

 

_ Don’t worry, Stiles. I won’t lead him on too long. Come now, it’s your turn.  _ __  
  


Running felt like flying. It was strange not to feel the usual tiredness building up in his legs, the lack of tightness in his chest as he ran and jumped over tree roots. He wasn’t out of shape, he was in great shape when he wasn’t being compared to werewolves, but the total lack of exertion was simply another reminder that this wasn’t his body anymore.    
When the first trap went off Stiles wanted to throw up, pass out, do something other than feel the rush of pure unadulterated  _ glee  _ that filled him- no it was Void. Void was the one feeling the pleasure, the satisfaction that curled like a blanket around him, it was the nogitsune. Not him. It wasn’t him. 

 

Coach was a right bastard sometimes but he cared, he didn’t deserve this. The blood was warm, running over Stiles’ hands, staining them red. “Scott!” Whispered, secretive, the black lines slowly crawled their way up the wolf’s arms while everyone else murmured and stood back. 

 

‘I did this.’

_ No, we did this. I couldn’t have done it without you. You have such good friends Mieczyslaw, it’s a shame they can’t tell the difference between us.  _

‘It’s not their fault!’ 

_ Isn’t it?  _

 

He’s never wanted to see his dad less than he did in that moment. The hug felt like sacrilege, his dad felt fragile. Skin and bone and so easily broken. 

Void was taunting him,  _ I could take him too. I could get so much just from him I might not even need to go after your wolf. Think about it  _ Stiles  _ one life for that of the many. It wouldn’t even take more than a few words. He’d go straight for that bottle in the back of his closet he thinks you never found. What do you say? _

 

The answer would always be no. He would put a bullet in his own heart before he hurt his dad. He would kill to keep him alive. Aiden was his savior. “Stiles, the gift wrap.” 

 

“It’s a bomb. You have to evacuate the school.”

 

***

Derek Hale was at his side, every bit as gruff and stubborn as every other time they met since the fire. Another casualty of an unending war. “Derek, just wait. We get nothing by leaving and I don’t want fugitive added to my record.” The case planted in his apartment was a huge problem but still not the biggest of his immediate concerns. Since Peter’s impromptu visit days prior he had checked and double checked the house’s security, whoever or whatever got in wasn’t of a human variety and with the F.B.I.’s involvement it threw Chris off. Katashi was dead and Chris was stuck in a police station with Derek Hale. Funny how life changes.

 

If Stiles’ wanted them both framed for murder, whatever the reasons, then they had little chance of getting out of it unscathed. His lawyer was good but against a fox… it would be an interesting case to hear. That was if any of them lived long enough for that to come around. As far as he knew the fox would kill them long before then. 

 

“I’m not going to die for you.”    
“Wouldn’t expect you to.” No, there were few people he would ever expect to risk their life for his and his own family didn’t make that list. He’d never ask it of Derek. The station was hectic, he’d picked up the words school, bomb threat, watched the new deputy, Parrish he thought, get pulled out so quickly the boy looked whiplashed. But there was no information on who or how or why. So they would wait. Allison had gone to the hospital just after lunch, she’d let him know that much before Agent McCall carted him away. So he settled back and watched.    
Thirty minutes passed and Derek was getting restless again, Chris shot him a look.

“Chris.” 

 

“Everyone out!” a young deputy unlocked the cuffs- his movements frantic and missing the lock twice before getting the cuff loose- but before they made it three steps toward the door and before Chris could even start to stand Derek was yelling too and Chris was being covered by the wolf. 

The bomb was in the station. 

 

The explosion was deafening, bits of glass and debris flying fast and splinters buried themselves in his skin. It was quiet for all of a second. Then the screaming started. It takes too long for him to truly register that Derek is still curled over his back but when he does he’s quick to stand and pull him up, “You saved my life.” it’s only when he reaches out to touch the wolf that he realizes the damage. .   
Derek’s back is a mess of glass shards that makes even Chris hesitate. Wolf or not that had to hurt “Shit, come on, this way.” he shoves Derek into a back room, eyes roaming over the ground where too many bodies are strewn as they half stumble along. There too many still standing to let Derek stay out in the room. 

“I’m fine.”    
“Shut up, Hale. Now come on.” 

 

Sitting with Derek in front of him, leaning over a low table so the hunter could extract the many pieces out of the skin he is hit with the heavy knowledge that a Hale had saved his life twice in less than a week. The irony wasn’t lost on him

 

*

“I have to know what she took from me.” Talia. His alpha. His sister. His demise. Whatever she had done, playing with his memories and his  _ life.  _ He had to know and the banshee was the only one there to give it to him. He knew it wasn’t as simple as a single memory but just one was all he needed. Just a  _ hint  _ at whatever she had stolen. 

-

“Tell me!” 

 

“All I get is Morro Bay. I don’t know anything else!” The information was as vague as it could have been, though there had to be more to it than that. Her heart skittered over the words and he had to  _ know.  _ Claws out, fury welling in his chest that was far from tempered by the soft concerned pulse of a barely there pack bond, he stepped forward. He  _ would _ know. Sadly the Argent girl had as much bite in her as her mother.

 

*

 

“Run!” the clinic is just ahead, Scott’s turned his back on Void. Inside is safety. Stiles didn’t think that the creature knew fear but with the Oni behind him there was that little spark of it, curling around and around. It faded fast once inside the clinic. “Kira” gasped out, breathy and pleading. The girl turns, worried and prepared to  _ help _ just as she always was and Void tangled fingers in her hair and slammed. The sound of her head hitting the metal table was thunderous. Scott’s cry for her less a roar than a whimper. 

“You know, Scotty. You can’t even tell when your best friend isn’t here, it’s a shame really. You wolves are always so ready to believe you’re the best of the supernatural world and yet,” he flicked the hilt of the sword still in Scott’s stomach  “you’re so easily fooled.” 

“You took so much pain today, Scott. You have no idea how good that feels.” His hand wraps around the sword and twists, pulling a wet sound out of the wolf. When Void starts pulling the pain away Stiles hand pauses where he’s holding the black board piece, looking up,  _ seeing _ , and he drops it. 

 

“No”   
_ Enjoy this Stiles. Think of everything he’s taken from you, all that he’s done to hurt you, we’re just taking that pain back. It’s sweet isn’t it. _

“No! He’s my friend, he’s never hurt me!”   
_ You can’t lie here, Miecyzslaw. I hear what you don’t say. Intentionally. He has never hurt you intentionally but what about all the times he tried to hurt you as a new wolf. When he was with Allison? When  _ Gerard  _ took you into that basement? Enjoy this and make your move. _

  
  


“You really shouldn't trust a fox, Scott. They’ll trick you. They’ll trick everyone.” 

“Not everyone.” 

 

The rage that consumed him  _ burned.  _ It was like someone had taken every memory, every inch of his mind and lit it on fire. Void had nowhere to go, nowhere to run and so he turned that fury inward. 

_ You’ll beg me for something as kind, you’ll wish I had killed them all.  _

 

The dark was a blessing.  

 

***

“It’s not dead. Not yet.” 

‘What about Stiles? What about my  _ son _ !” 

“He should be alright for the time being. But the effect of the lichen will wear off. I recommend keeping him somewhere safe and not leaving him alone.” 

Half an hour later, laying on his bed, childlike and looking too close to death, Stiles laid still. Noah brushed his hair back, “It’s going to be okay.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. this is a short update, and I know it feels a little bit filler-y? But! I promise there will be more! And as for the small changes in Peter's memories-  
> 1) Malia exists, but I think the plot of her being Peter's daughter is kind of lazy writing and doesn't fit well with canon (which is my plaything now).  
> 2) The location is important to my Peter's backstory but it may be a bit before we get into it. I promise I'll make it worth the wait. 
> 
> 3) on another note; we're getting more Steter content in the next few chapters! Just to strike the match a little bit on this slow burn hell fic. 
> 
> and lastly, your comments give me life and I appreciate every single one of you.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worked on this instead of studying for my psych test... whoops.

“What are you doing here?”    
Noah Stilinski was a fine man, honorable, hard ass, and easier to read than one would expect; but that may have been the stress. Peter didn’t need to be a werewolf to know the man would put a bullet in him if he thought it would fix even one of his current problems. And the man had many. Peter respected him, he did, long before the fire he’d known Deputy Stilinski and the man was sharp, it wasn’t hard to see where Stiles got his eye for detail but Stiles had an edge to him that his father lacked. Not a lack of steel but a willingness to do harm. He could, Peter had no doubt, and he would when pushed; but if Noah was a calm before the storm then his son was a hurricane. 

 

“I heard that Stiles is back home, I came to check on him.” 

“Why? What do you have to do with my son?” 

“There was a time when I dealt in rare artifacts and mythologies and I was hoping that I might be able to help Stiles keep control until the pack finds a way to free him from the Nogitsune’s influence. If not for your sons safety then for that of the town. As I’m sure you’re not able to watch him every moment what with the recent explosions.” The fact that the Stilinski household held no protections like the ones McCall had was irking. Stiles and his father both were in the thick of every bit of Beacon Hills trouble and there wasn’t so much as a charm on the doorstep; mountain ash on the windows aside. As soon as this mess was over he’d have to make sure Stiles started working on runes and sigils. 

“Wait here.” the door was shut in his face.  _ Well they certainly have the same manners.  _ Peter was a curious creature and he cocked his head as he listened to the sheriff move through the house. It’s not possible to hear the conversation the two Stilinski men have but the door opens a few minutes later to a decidedly unhappy Noah. “If you try anything, I will put a bullet in you. Stiles’ll be down in a minute” He makes a motion to the living room and waits until Peter is seated before sitting down himself. It’s all very ‘meet the parent’-esque. 

 

“I heard my nephew is in your fine custody.” 

“No, he’s in McCall’s until further notice.”   _ McCall’s?  _   
“I don’t suppose you could tell me the charges?”   
“No.” 

 

Stiles comes down the stairs and before he even comes into view the fact that something is wrong is apparent, it’s in the atmosphere. The air is stale with exhaustion, footsteps slow on the stairs, and when he finally does step into the living room the teen is unsteady on his feet. He looks sick. Yet he’s sharp enough to keep his dad from offering help, pale as he is and as dark as the circles beneath his eyes are, he’s still Stiles. Though, the longer Peter sits he notes that something old clings to him under the usual scents. Something deep but dormant. He can’t say as much in front of the Sheriff.    
Lack of sleep aside the teen looks better than he expected, physically at least. The eyes are haunted behind the barely scrambled together mask but he’s alive and standing against all evidence that said contrary. 

 

“Stiles.” 

“Peter.” 

 

He curls up on the couch, pulling a blanket around his shoulders despite the hoodie he has on. The house isn’t exactly cold. “Why are you here?” 

“To see how you’re doing. We both know Deaton doesn’t always share the important things.” The quiet regard Stiles gives him is off-putting, he was used to studying; not being the one studied. Now he had two pairs discerning eyes on him. “I was concerned about your health. You shouldn’t be alone right no after all.” Noah’s scent spiked with anger and protectiveness and Peter noted that perhaps he should have worded that more carefully. 

 

“It’s fine, Peter.” There was so much unspoken there that Peter could write a dissertation on it. He glanced at Noah for a moment and knew he thought the same. 

 

“I’m sure your father has grocery shopping and work to attend to, I simply wanted to offer my company to help things run smoother.”  Guilt tinged the air from two different sources.  _ Interesting.  _

“I do need to get some shopping done, we’re out of a lot but it can wait. The station doesn’t need me around right now anyway.” 

 

“Dad,” quiet, too quiet to have the impact it does. The sheriff stilled “I’ll be okay. You can go do what you need to. I trust him on this.”

 

*

 

It was a shock to feel the truth of the words. He did trust Peter in this. He trusted the wolf to keep him safe, sane, and to kill him if it came to that. The shock was palpable, a brief flash in the wolf’s eyes and the change in his dad’s posture. He was too tired to give him more than that but the few words were clearly enough because his dad stood. 

“Can I talk to you in the kitchen?” 

 

_ He’s going to hear anyway.  _ But he stood, body protesting that he should be asleep. 

“Stiles, are you sure?” 

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t. He’s not going to hurt me, I’m probably safer with him than anyone else.” and wasn’t that just the kicker. That out of everyone he knew Peter was the only one he could say with full confidence he was safe with. Who had the smarts, the strength, and the resolve to get dirty that would keep them both alive. “I’m not saying I trust him, dad; but I trust him with this. You have to leave me alone at some point and it's better now than later.”

 

There’s something complicated behind his dad’s eyes and it takes a minute before he nods. “Okay, but I want you to call me every hour”    
“Two.”    
“A text every hour.” he holds out an arm and Stiles hesitates before he steps forward into the embrace, forehead resting on his dad’s collarbone. 

“Deal.” 

 

They pull away and Stiles goes back to his spot on the couch, pulling a pillow into his lap and looking at Peter. “You didn’t have to come.” 

“I know.” 

 

The sheriff leaves with a ruffle of Stiles’ hair and a last glare at the wolf. He wouldn’t say that he wasn’t surprised the man gave in so easily. His dad wasn’t exactly trusting or easily swayed. He had to get his stubbornness from somewhere. “Where have you been? I mean, what’s been happening?” He knew the wolf had found something in the woods but Void hadn’t been half as interested in that as his own plans. 

The wolf shifts, clasps his hands over his knee, and smiles. It’s not quite a true smile, it could have been called a smirk but there was happiness there that was clear as day. “I have a beta.”  _ A beta? Who? Did he turn someone? Where was this wolf? What if they were dangerous?  _

“He’s a born wolf, a little soft but I think you’d like him.” 

 

“What’s his name? How’d you meet him? I mean, you don’t just  _ get  _ a beta, right?” This was something to latch on to. Something interesting and new and he didn’t have to worry about not knowing because he wasn’t  _ supposed to.  _

“He came to me, he was an omega from one of the San Francisco packs. His name is Lucien and he’s a baker. I’m sure you’ll meet him before long.” 

 

“Yeah, maybe… ” he turned his eyes to the blank tv and it flickered to life, he startled but then realized that Peter had snagged the remote. The wolf seemed to make himself at home anywhere he went. 

 

“Buffy? Really?” 

 

“I missed the last seasons. I’m catching up. Do you have a problem with that?” Stiles shook his head and settled further down into his seat. It was companionable, the episode one he had seen several times before but was clearly new to Peter and the ability to see the wolf doing something so mundane… it was almost enough to forget why they were here. When the second episode started up Stiles jerked upright, throwing himself to his feet.  _ Don’t sleep. Don’t go to sleep.  _

 

“Stiles.” there’s a hand at his elbow holding him steady. “Let’s go for a walk.” the blanket was taken and folded back on the couch while Peter pushed him gently toward the door to get his shoes. A few minutes later they were outside, walking side by side around the block, Stiles hands shoved into his hoodie. They head around the block, the chill in the air just enough to force some awareness back into the teen, the wolf a warmth at his side. Peter didn’t speak and didn’t push which was strange enough but it was a calm sort of quiet and Stiles appreciate it immensely. The ability to just ‘be’ for a little while. 

 

“I’m trying to figure this out and I just can’t. There’s next to no lore, there’s no cures, there’s nothing. I don’t know what to do. Scott is trying but he doesn’t know anymore than I do, Dad doesn’t need this- with Rafael fucking with his job and then what Vo- the nogitsune did. I don’t know. I think, I think maybe I need to go somewhere. Somewhere like Eichen just until-” the warmth at his side was gone, he took a few steps before freezing and looking back. Peter had stopped walking, eyes cold “Peter?”

 

He’s being grabbed, dragged to the wolf by his bicep. There’s a snarl building up and Stiles isn’t sure if it’s coming from Peter or himself as he jerks back. He doesn’t go anywhere and though there aren’t any claws the grip on his arm is enough to bruise. Peter is unrelenting.  “No.” Blue eyes are staring at him like he’s tried to throw himself off a bridge, hurt and angry and  _ not an expression that needed to be directed at him by Peter goddamn Hale.  _ There’s another hand on his neck, holding him in place with a thumb along his jaw. In another world, another life, the position might have been something nice. 

 

His heart is in his ears, thundering loud and adrenaline is surging through him. Sense memories flickering.  _ Do you want the bite?  _ “Peter, let me go.” 

 

“You can’t go to Eichen; promise me, Stiles. Say that you’ll never set foot in that building.” 

 

“Peter, let go!” 

 

“Say it!” 

 

“Okay! God! Okay I won’t go to Eichen House! I won’t! I promise just, Peter you need to let me go!” he shoves against the man’s chest and he sees the moment Peter realizes how he’s holding him and the wolf just; lets go. He stumbles, catching himself before he can hit the ground. He isn’t afraid. No. He’s not afraid. But he  _ is _ confused. Shocked. A little hurt. 

 

“Stiles, you can’t go to Eichen House. It’s not safe. It would destroy you faster than it would ever help. There’s history there that is dark. It makes the things that have happened these past years look like a disney movie.” the wolf steps forward and Stiles holds his ground, watches Peter’s hand rise and come to rest gently on top of his shoulder, thumb barely pressing against the skin of his throat to pull a little of the pain away. He’s still a little angry but he won’t retreat, not from this.

 

*

 

He expects the pain, what he doesn’t expect is the  _ depth  _ of it, there’s no end he can sense. It’s just  _ there. _ He still pulls it away for a minute, eyes fixed on the point where his thumb meets the too cool skin of Stiles’ neck before his eyes catch on something else. He steps closer, every move careful after his outburst. Why he’d reacted so strongly he couldn’t say, he wanted to blame the wolf- that the idea of their pack in that place was simply too much- but that wasn’t quite true. He couldn’t stand the idea of  _ Stiles  _ in that hell hole. So he’d reacted irrationally and that was the greatest offense of all. He pulls the collar of the hoodie aside, fingers creeping don to trace a pattern across Stiles’ shoulder. 

 

“What are you doing?” Stiles asks after another moment. 

“The wolf lichen leaves a mark when the affected is possessed. When it fades so does the effect the poison has.” he draws back. “I think we should go home.” The walk back is far more tense than the original journey, Stiles walking just a step further away. There’s some nosy neighbors across the street that don’t say long when Peter catches their eye. Stiles doesn’t say a word and Peter can’t bring himself to care overmuch for hurt feelings when he was both correct and acted out in Stiles’ own interest so he says nothing until they’re back in the house. 

  
  


“How long do you think I have?” Stiles won’t look at him but if the boy can’t bear to look him in the eye that was fine. He’d come around before long and though Stiles didn’t forgive easily he was a reasonable person and Peter hadn’t done anything unreasonable. Rash but not unreasonable. 

 

“It’s hard to say without seeing how quickly it’s fading. I would say days but it could be weeks or hours.”

 

“Oh that’s helpful.” Stiles snaps from the foot of the steps where he’d paused in his retreat.

 

“So very sorry I don’t know all the secrets of the universe, Stiles. Maybe Deaton would answer your questions. Or maybe you could ask Argent I’m sure he’d be happy to end your predicament.”

 

“Fuck you.” and that was full of venom he didn’t expect. He’d clearly touched on something. 

 

“Stiles.” a sigh tears itself from his throat and Peter drops his shoulders. “I apologize. I know this isn’t easy but I’m not your enemy here.”

  
He’s rounded on with a fury he didn’t expect in his wildest dreams. Even when Stiles had planned his murder it had been cold and steady and perhaps remorseful if not regretful. It was calculated, impersonal. This was harsh and bright and wild. It made his hackles rise. 

 

“You know? You  _ know? _ What the hell do you know about someone taking everything you have and using your own hands to ruin it? Threatening your friends and family! Taking every you are and tearing it apart. Knowing he’s just going to do it again the second I close my eyes! Taking who I am and taunting me with my own fucking memories? Ruining what I had left of her?  I couldn’t  _ do  _ anything, there was so damn much going on and I couldn’t control any of it! What do you know about that! Huh? What the hell would you know!” 

  
  


“I think you’ll find I know that very well.” 

 

*

 

_ I think you’ll find I know that very well.  _

 

The next words died in Stiles throat. To be trapped; powerless; out of control in your own life. If anyone understood that it was Peter. He froze, hands shaking at his sides. The calm way Peter had replied was what had killed his anger, swamping him in emotions he didn’t want. Peter could understand. Peter was there and maybe it was for selfish reasons and maybe not but it didn’t matter because he was  _ there. _ He  _ understood.   _ He chokes on words that won’t come. 

 

“I’m going to touch you.” The wolf stepped close, still the teen couldn’t raise his eyes, fixed on the floor. _What are you doing Stilinski? Why can’t you pull it together. There’s things to be done and you’re having a breakdown like a child. Pull it together. Pull it together. Pull it-_ he’s pulled into a broad chest, rocking forward until he’s no longer supporting his own weight. _Peter was in a coma_ _and you just- goddamn it what’s wrong with you? What’s wrong with you?_

Peter is warm, heat soaking through his hoodie where they’re pressed chest to chest and the arms around him are strong but not caging. His own arms were limp at his sides and he kept fighting for breath, trying to focus on the earthy sharp-spice scent that was whatever Peter had on. Maybe it would have worked. Maybe he could have choked it back down and saved it for another day. But the man had to go and speak. 

 

“Let go, Stiles. Let it out and let it go.” 

 

He sobs. He shakes and clings to the too soft fabric of the wolf’s shirt and mutters nonsense. ‘I’m sorrys and help mes’ that make him feel weaker than he ever has.  There’s a rumble from the wolf that sounds like a purr and it just keeps going until his breath returns and the trembling stops and the tears  _ finally  _ stop coming. He stands in the embrace a moment longer, uncurling his fingers and pushing lightly against Peter’s chest in a gentle mockery of the earlier evening. He wipes his eyes. Takes a breath. Steadied he looks up at the wolf and, with more confidence that he truly felt, he says. 

 

“Okay. Let’s get to work on killing this thing.” 


	10. Chapter 10

_“Easy. Easy. Damn, Chris what did you_ do _? Hey, it’s fine just lay back down dumbass. No one’s coming out here looking for us tonight. Okay, Argent? Argent?”_

“Argent!”

 

He startled, head whipping up to the officer who had come to fetch him. At his back Derek shifted.  “Sir?”

“Your lawyer is here to see you.” With all that had happened in the past day he was almost surprised that his lawyer had managed to get there so fast, but then again the Argent fortune was not something one took lightly nor did they pay for less than the best. His knees popped as he rose, drawing a grimace to his lips. He’d survived a lot in his years and no amount of yoga could stop time. He’d have Derek go after him, make sure everything was squared away on that front before Mccall could get it in his head to push the wolf on an issue. Derek wasn’t the most level-headed of men but he wasn’t stupid either, Chris trusted his judgment. The young man had already shown he could trust him with his life.

Stepping into the room to see Calaveras was a shock. He knew that he was lucky not to have seen her before now but her timing was awful from his perspective. The Calaveras were strict followers of the code who left just enough room for brutality in their ways. Yet they paled next to Kate and Gerard so who was he to talk? There were a few good ways to get their attention as a hunter murders, betrayals, high levels of supernatural activity… he could only guess at what brought her here now.

“They told me my lawyer was here to see me.”

“Sit down, Christophe. We have things to discuss.”

“Do we?”

 

The woman’s smile couldn’t have been sharper if she had fangs. “Our code is not abandoned lightly, Christophe. You think that you, as an Argent, would understand that.”

“We didn’t abandon it, we changed it. As matriarch, she has the authority.”

“Don’t be a fool. The code was created for a reason and to forget that is foolish.”  
“For what reason did my _wife_ have to kill herself?” That wound still stung, even if it didn’t bleed.

“She honored the code and the life she had lived. We don’t allow our own to become monsters, you know that.” Monsters. Monsters burned children alive and tortured innocents for joy. Monsters preyed on young boys and beat them to send a message. 

“She would have honored her daughter more by _living_!”

 

“Sit back down, Christophe." it's sharp, no-nonsense. He complies "Now, is this really about _your wife_ or is it something else?” she was perceptive and persistent, he needed to control himself.

“I don’t understand.”

“Victoria understood her duties, I only wonder if you do as well.” There were layers there that he couldn't unravel sitting her across from her, there wasn't enough time to play mind games.

 

“I understand my duties perfectly well.” _Protect my daughter. Protect those who cannot protect themselves. Die for what you must_

“I hope you do.”

*

 

Stiles had a system for his board. Red for unsolved, green for solved, yellow for those in between, and blue for connections because it was just a nice color. When they had first sat down to get to work the board was all red, every unknown factor, every unexplained death or action, slowly but surely there was a little more yellow in the mix, even one or two blue threads between a childishly drawn sketch of the Oni and a black spot representing Void. It wasn't much but it was  _so much more_. Peter proved himself to be a great enabler of ideas, letting Stiles veer off into webs of information, chasing threads without a inkling of annoyance, only interrupting with an observation of his own.

It was awesome.

Peter was moving things around the board while Stiles spouted ideas from where he was sprawled out in the floor.

 

“I don’t get how Oak Creek ties in.”

“Oak Creek?” Peter looked back over his shoulder from where he was adding another yellow thread to the board between Kira’s mom and the Oni.

“Yeah it was a Japanese detainment center in World War 2 here in California.” Surely Peter had learned about it in whatever fancy school he went to.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Yes. It was. I can take you there if you want, it held at least like a hundred or two hundred people. Guards were taking medicine and all sorts of shady shit, like a third of the detanies died.”

“How do you know that?”

“I-” _took a field trip there?_ “I don’t know.” _That’s not my memory. I shouldn’t know that. Fuck, shit._

 

“You’re sharing memories with the nogitsune, aren’t you?”

He can’t do anything more than nod at the realization.

“Okay, we can use that.”

 

*

 

_“Christopher meet Victoria Donati.”_

_“Victoria this is my son, Christopher.”_

 

_Victoria was beautiful, in the same way that an ice sculpture was stunning, cold, sharp, and calculated. She feigned indifference even as she took in his appearance. Unlike ice Chris didn’t think she would melt. The Donati’s were a powerful hunting family, while the Argents moved around often the west was their unofficial domain and the Donati’s held the mid-west. That they would ask for help now, for a case relatively small was no coincidence. That Gerard watched the two of them with a careful eye made it clear. This would be a match so long as neither screwed this hunt up. It made him want to run. So he took her hand and smiled._

_“It’s nice to meet you.”_

 

_It was an arrangement of convenience and strength. They were young, they were good hunters, they were a nice match. There didn’t need to be love. There were things to love about her of course.  She was fierce, determined, smart and cunning. She was beautiful, with flaming hair and deceptively smooth skin. No hunters were ever unscathed but she was close. No. There didn’t need to be love to have control. To have an heir. A new generation didn’t have to be brought up out of pleasurable courtships. But did he love her? No._

_“Who is it?” she was smart, smart enough to know it wasn’t her he was thinking of on the balcony of a New York City hotel._

_“No one important.”_

_“Do you think I’m stupid?”_   
_“Of course not, but they aren’t important anymore. I’m faithful to you, what I was with them would never have worked anyway.”_ _  
_ “A civilian?” she joined him, the city lights adding something even sharper to her features. He wondered if they did the same to him.

_“Yes.”_

 

_He started loving her during the summer before Allison was born, when things were settled as much as they could have been, but it wasn’t right. It didn’t feel like it was the kind of love he should’ve had, but it was love, and it was more than he could have ever asked for. Having each others back brought people closer, sharing a bed, holding their life in your hands. Having a child? That was the best thing of all. Even if he didn’t love Victoria, when he started to wonder about blue eyes and half lidded smiles, there was Allison._

_“She needs to be a child, Vic. Just for a while.” winning that argument changed things between them, for the better he would say. Gerard wasn’t happy, but he never was and while Chris was just his son Victoria was the matriarch and her word was law._

_Returning to Beacon Hills was his choice, the Hales, the murders, it was their responsibility. What he expected to get was a far cry from the horrors he found. He feared old secrets would catch up but they didn’t. Victoria never questioned his motives. She held him when he shook, hands clenched tight in the face of Kate’s crimes. He brushed his hair back when he voiced his concerns about Gerard’s visit. She snapped him back into focus when he got too emotional. If he was a wolf he might’ve said she was his anchor._

 

 _The night after Jungle, watching her lift the knife with purpose he was shocked by the vehemence with which he wanted her to_ live. _To forget the code and stay alive. She snapped him out of that as well. “I won’t be a monster, Chris. I won’t let Allison be hurt because of me. This is our way. You know that.”_

_“I know.” It was their code. It was what was right. He doesn't let himself cry._

 

_He questioned it again in that hospital room._

_He questioned it every day after._

_He wouldn’t question it again._

 

*

“It’s not a filing cabinet Peter!”

“Stiles, just _try_ to work with me.”

“Goddamnit! I’m tired! I just _know things_ and I don’t get to choose what they are. It’s like asking me to tell you my favorite color on March 2nd of 2001, I can’t do it!”

After the discovery of the shared memories Peter had been pushing. And pushing. And pushing. It was driving Stiles a little mad. Okay, yeah they had managed to piece a little more together. The Nogitsune was called to Oak Creek with most certainly did exist even if they could find no mention of it anywhere, and the Yukimura’s had something to do with it. There was an unpleasant experience of remembering what it felt like in monsoon season in the middle of nowhere without shelter, there were simply pieces that didn’t fit. It was centuries of knowledge shoved and pushed in places until it shattered.

The rash on his back hadn’t seemed to fade much yet but neither of them took that as a good sign, knowing all too well how quickly things could change.

 

“Stiles, let’s get some food. Take a break. We’ve made quite the progress this evening and clearly you’re burned out.” The smarmy bastard was just as tired if Stiles had anything to say about it but god forbid Peter Hale be anything less than perfect. It didn’t stop him from taking the offered hand and leaning briefly against him while he regained his balance.

“Dad has a court thing tomorrow, he doesn’t think I know but I do and he’s probably going to ask you to come back over.” His dad’s job was important, Stiles knew that and he didn’t begrudge it for a second. He loved his dad, he loved his dad’s work. The sheriff station was like a second home to him and to know that it was in danger all because of Stiles? Well, that was hard.

 

“Are you inviting me over? I’m flattered.”

“I’m just saying,” he gratefully took the offered can of soda, “don’t be a dick.”

“Such wisdom from one so young..” before Stiles could make a comment about ages himself Peter tossed out an offer. “I could invite my beta over if you’d like. He’d be delighted to make contacts here in Beacon Hills I’m sure.”

“Yes! Do that, another pair of eyes couldn’t hurt.”

 

“Another pair of eyes on what?” Stiles jerked so hard he bruised his knee on the underside of the table. His dad was standing in the doorway and Stiles hadn’t even heard the door open.

“Uh, nothing just my board. For a project thing.” Noah raised a brow. “We’re trying to figure out how to fix this and maybe another pair of supernatural eyes can help?”

“Uh huh. Well since you’re both not too busy you can help me carry in groceries.”

 

*

 

“I don’t blame you.” it’s dark, the station is quiet, he’s laying on his back, hands clasped over his stomach and he’s half sure that Derek’s actually asleep even as he says that words. There’s no response but leather creak as the wolf shift, Chris knows the attention is on him. “For Victoria. I don’t blame you.”

Hesitant, wary, sounding both too old and too young Derek responds, “Why?”   
“You didn’t kill her, she killed herself because she was too afraid of what she’d become.” it hurt but it was true and Chris wondered what decision he’d make in her shoes, even now. He wouldn’t leave Allison. He knew that. But everything else was an unknown. “I knew her, I- I know what she was like. And I don’t blame you for any of it.”

The almost silence stretched out but it was okay. Chris didn’t expect a response. He said his piece and that was all.

 

 

 

"I don't blame you either."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter did not want to be written! Of course when I sat down to write an essay worth 30% of my grade is when this thing latched its claws into me! 
> 
> So this was a lot more Chris centric than usual, Stiles and Peter are energizers for each other in the idea department, and if any of you are interested I'm participating in the Steter Bingo this year so when I'm not working here that's what I'm updating. (there's a fic 'so desperate, so blind' which was originally a plot bunny for this fic but it no longer works with where I'm going here so if you wanna check that out...) 
> 
> Final note: I see and appreciate and read and re-read all your comments and I love all of you readers! Updates soon hopefully!
> 
> (p.s. if something doesn't make sense, a jumpy line or super weird out of place sentence structure just let me know because ao3 is giving me hell with formatting)


	11. Chapter 11

Stiles was… a lot of things. Mouthy, sarcastic, annoying, loud, smart as hell, and  _ strong _ . If not in the physical aspect then in his will undoubtedly. The board in Stiles’ room was an amazing thing, so many connections to be made, just waiting for that little spark. His boy was a genius, not like Ms. Martin, no. But a genius all the same.

After the sheriff had returned he’d pulled Peter outside with a stern, “If anything happens to him because of you, there’s not a damn thing being a werewolf will do to save you.” 

 

Walking away from that house was a strange feeling. 

 

Sharing memories with a spirit that old was bound to have repercussions, the confusion the least of them. Languages were confusing to kitsune but he had no doubt Void knew many.  _ Void.  _ Stiles had said it a few times and stopped correcting himself with “nogitsune” after the third. It was a powerful name. The knowledge they had managed to extract was helpful, it gave them a good foundation to move from. Maybe by the end of this they’d all be alive. Derek and Argent were still in custody which was annoying enough without the rest of the unknowns. Peter wanted to talk to Yukimura himself but the hour was late, the woman was likely to shoot first and answer questions later. 

 

“Lucien.” 

“Alpha.” The blond bounced up from where he’d been seated on the bottom step of the apartment complex and grinned. “So, you’ve already got somethin’ for me to do?” The young man had admitted to being a runner for Gionni and Peter was more than okay with taking advantage of that. He was young, pretty, and unassuming. The fact his energy seemed boundless was also a plus. 

“Yes, though don’t get too excited.” He puts Lucien in front of him going up the stairs and considers just what he needs. Stiles needed a guard, not a babysitter, someone who knew what to look for and how to slow it down. Derek could have done it, Scott had proven himself ineffectual, and the rest of the ragtag team would be dead before they knew what hit them. That left himself and perhaps his own little pack. 

It was already becoming a habit for the two men to move into the kitchen on entry, despite the blond only having been in the apartment a few times in the five or so days since their meeting. Peter started the coffee, offering him a croissant before they moved to the living room. It wasn’t easy, the beta was jumpy and Peter was distant compared to most alphas but the fragile bond was flaring a little brighter each day. Some bonds were simple things, like strings, a connection without the warmth, but the Hales had never felt like that barring a few individual members. They had always felt like living things between those closest members and Peter felt the beginnings of that now. It was a little startling. To suddenly have that warm connection in the back of his mind and the curl of  _ something good  _ in his ribcage when someone was near was like seeing a face from a childhood and wondering how you forgot.

 

“You said you had a contact in Nevada dealing in rare herbs and the like, correct?” 

“I do, but I’m not sure how welcoming they’ll be now that Gionni is dead.” 

 

“I find that money will make even the most argumentative man amenable. Here’s what I need.”

 

*

 

“Stiles?” 

 

His dad hovered in the doorway, stripped of his uniform and looking far more uncertain than Stiles had even once remembered him being whilst sober. It was nearly two and he had his hearing in eight hours, he should’ve been sleeping. Instead he was worrying about Stiles. Wordlessly Stiles shoves away from his desk and stands, moving forward and offers a tight hug. He buries his face in the soft grey cotton of his dad’s shirt and squeezes. “I’m okay, dad.” 

 

“No you aren’t.” 

He clung just a little bit tighter.

 

*

 

“Stiles, this is Lucien.” the boy looked both better and worse than the previous day. He seemed more alert but the dark circles were more pronounced and his hands continued to shake when he had reached for the door. Noah had left just as they arrived, hopefully by the evening the mess his nephew and Argent were in could be sorted out and they’d be ready to help. “If you two want to get acquainted I’m going to make breakfast.” He gives Stiles no time to protest, food was important to keeping him both awake and healthy. Until they killed the Nogitsune he’d hear no words of complaint from the boy’s lips on the matter. There was no one else around at the moment to keep him on his feet and so he wasn't allowed to complain that Peter would do so.  
Though out of sight he was clearly able to keep track of the two young men’s conversation and he lets it filter in while he searches for something to cook. There’s a box mix of pancake batter and he supposed it would have to do. 

“So you’re looking for a place here in town?” 

“Yeah, I’ve not exactly had time to look but I figure I’ll get set up somewhere in a few weeks.”

“One of my dad’s coworkers is renting out a place, I’ll give you her number- the pots are in the cabinet left of the sink!” Peter had to look over his shoulder to make sure Stiles wasn’t actually standing in the knelt down to pull the pan out. The cabinet itself was a mess, pots and pans stacked up precariously and he's hit with an itch to fix it. He shut the cabinet door. 

“You play Call of Duty?”

 

*

 

Lucien Koch wasn’t at all what Stiles expected. He was slim, nice, and a little quiet but not in the way Peter usually was, no he was quiet like he’d never been told he was allowed to talk. On the other hand, he felt like he would do well, both as a part of Peter’s pack and Beacon Hills as a whole. He didn’t ask questions, Stiles assumed Peter would have already filled him in on the basics of the situation and it was nice to have someone new around. He loved his friends, but right then, with everything going on he needed something with no expectations to hold on to. 

 

Then he kicked Stiles’ ass at Call of Duty and all bets were off. Video games had always been his go to escape, especially when Scott was around. They were simple when he needed them to be and right then it was normal enough to pull him away from the bloodied hands he saw every time he looked down for too long. “Wanna do campaign?”

Whatever reply the blond was going to give is cut off by Peter stepping into the living room doorway, “You" there's a pointed look at Stiles, "need food before you two go back to trying to kill each other.” 

Domestic wasn’t a word Stiles often applied to any of the wolves he’d known but this set up felt very much domestic. 

 

Maybe later he could get Peter to play as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's another update already on the way and (spoiler) shit's about to get real. 
> 
> Also, the author has one more midterm to make it through and then updates should be more frequent (its a language midterm though so... oof) 
> 
> last thing, would anyone be interested in seeing a few scenes from other viewpoints from time to time and if yes, who?


	12. Chapter 12

His dad called to tell him that he was keeping his position as Sheriff just after one. At that point he was sitting in the floor, a pack of Ritz crackers on his right with Peter and Lucien on the couch and armchair respectively. He didn’t have much appetite but he’d managed to eat two pancakes in the morning and that was more than he had really expected of himself. Peter seemed pleased enough with it. A crash felt inevitable but for now he was doing good. He had, in fact, convinced Peter to take a controller after about an hour of wheedling and he had not been disappointed a bit when the wolf died in the first minute and a half of the game start. Or the thirty times after that. Lucien seemed pretty amused with it too. 

 

“Dad says he’s going to get Chris and Derek out of holding as soon as he can. He’s not going to be back for a while though. Bureaucracy shit.” Two knuckles brush against his neck in a gesture that he dimly recognized as scenting, he leaned back and turned his head to look at Peter curiously, phone still clasped in his hand. He gets a raised eyebrow in response. 

“I don’t mind staying late if that’s what you’re getting at.” 

 

“Yeah, he’ll stay.”

“Everything has been okay? Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Yep, Don’t worry. Okay? Everything is great.”

“Yeah yeah, I love you, kid.”

“Love you too, old man.”

 

He was cold again, the shivers starting in his legs and working their way up. The heavy weight of the afghan that lived on the back of the couch settled around him before he could reach for it. “Thanks.” Peter gave a hum and that was that. They switched from gaming to movies soon after that. It was odd, Peter had been increasingly tactile, and for the life of him Stiles couldn’t figure out why. The not really there press of a leg against his side when he was sitting on the floor, brushes against his neck that weren’t checking on the lightning streaming over his shoulder; they were huge gestures even though they weren’t. He’d even watched him brush forearms with Lucien- he’d never so much as touched Scott. 

 

He wanted to know but Peter wouldn’t give him a straight answer. No way. Instead, he moved himself to the couch and stretched. A hand settled on his ankle. The alpha didn't seem to pay him any mind after that.

Someone’s phone rings. 

 

“Peter.”

The younger wolf seemed to seek permission to take the call. Peter nodded and Lucien left the room. The blond seemed to rely on Peter a lot, at least in the context of this- checking before taking a seat, waiting for him to start eating first. It made him wonder what his previous alpha was like... They fell into an easy silence with Captain America playing on the tv. The hand on his ankle remained. 

 

“I hate to run but that was for the package we’ve been waiting on, I should be back in a few hours?” the wolf was halfway through slipping his shoes on and trying to zip his jacket at the same time. 

“Go on, if anything seems off call me.” and with that, there were two. 

 

*

 

“Argent, Hale.” the keys in the lock seemed exceptionally loud with how quiet the station had been. Since the night that they didn’t quite forgive each other, they’d talked about more than just the latest disaster. Derek had told him about Laura, how after the fire they went to New York and he’d taken a job at a cafe not because he needed to but because he couldn’t stand sitting around in their apartment. 

Chris didn’t have many stories that Derek would want to hear but he had a few.  Enough it made him feel his years.

 

It was almost a surprise to see Noah in the office. More so for the man to be advocating both his and Derek’s release. Stilinski wasn’t an unreasonable man but Chris knew enough about him to know his son’s safety was near the top of his priorities. “Argent.”

“Sheriff.” Chris didn’t want Stiles dead but casualties always happen in war. The innocent always bear the sins of the wicked. 

“I’d like to talk to you both in my office.” Which was, for the time being, one of the old storage spaces. 

 

“How’s Stiles?” Derek was the first to ask. 

“He’s not doing good. But he’s hanging in there.” Chris catches his eye and there’s something else there, something the man wants to say but isn’t sure how; he’s sure of it. 

“Where is he now?” 

 

“He’s at home with your uncle.”  _ and there is it. Peter is playing his games. _

"So what's the plan?"

*

 

“Tell me about pack structures?” it was mid-afternoon, Stiles' feet had both moved to Peter’s own thigh. The question caught him off guard. 

“Why?”

“I don’t know, just, it’s not like I have a lot of previous experience and I’m curious. It seems important.” he hums, watching the tv play passively. It was Stiles asking, maybe he was actually starting to think about joining a _proper_ pack. Maybe this was the beginning of an offer. 

 

“Well, no two packs are the same but most have the same basic structure.” Stiles shifts, bony heel digging into his thigh before tired brown eyes are fixed firmly on Peter’s face. He tilts his head and meets them. “There’s the alpha at the head, they’re the ones in charge of maintaining the pack, protecting and taking care of their betas. They’re responsible for creating pack bonds- let me finish then you can ask questions- then you already know about betas in a pack. But other than the alpha you have the left and right hands.” The glory and the gore. “The right hand is the alpha’s trusted advisor, second only to the emissary. If the alpha is gone the right hand becomes the acting alpha. Not necessarily the successor but they can be. In our pack it was first my brother then it was Talia’s husband.” Stiles moved again and Peter tightens his hand briefly on the boy’s ankle, that wasn’t the road he wanted to go down. Not now. 

“The left hand is the enforcer, they do all the work the pack doesn’t want to know about. Protection on a scale, information, intimidation.” 

 

“Who was that?”    
  
“Me.” there was a tiny flare of resentment in him, a spark he was careful to smother as soon as it appeared. “Many packs keep the left hand out, put them on the fringes. We didn’t do that but the job isn’t something a pack recognizes. Then there are runners, errands and communication for small matters, sometimes they’re focused on pups in the pack. Please refrain from whatever joke you’re about to make” Stiles closed his mouth and settled back under his blanket, nodding for Peter to continue “Some packs have omegas, I understand that the twins served that role before Deucalion came along. Think of it like that pack’s personal punching bag, civilized packs don’t have that. It’s… barbaric.” The irony wasn’t lost on him but Stiles just seemed thoughtful. 

"and, Lucien?"  
"Comes from a very traditional pack structure. He lost the bonds and was lower down the hierarchy so he is used to having guidance." He didn't know how long, if ever, Lucien would be stuck with the anxiety from his last pack but hopefully, he'd get better. He deserved that much and if Gionni wasn't dead Peter would have killed him himself.

“What do you mean by pack bonds?” Surely Derek wasn’t so… no. His nephew was never meant for the alpha power, he wasn’t prepared and so, of course, he hadn’t cultivated the bonds. Hadn’t thought to hardly create them. “Like, are they physical things or just a metaphor?” 

“A proper pack bond is something you can feel. They’re different for everyone, certain wolves will have strong bonds from the start, some are weaker, some are physical feeling and others are psychological, different packs have different feels to their bonds. Typically the closer the pack that more firm the bonds.” 

“Can humans feel them?”    
“Some. Most feel security or a sort of calm when they’re with pack. But that’s just what I know from talking to others.”    
  


“ _ Peter, come sit down you’re exhausted.” _

_ “I’m fine Allie, really.” _

__“Peter Hale if you don’t sit your ass down next to me right this second I’ll whip it.” He wasn’t the only one tired, the house was thrumming with tension and with half of them away… he sits down. “You aren’t the only one feeling the distance but running yourself into the ground trying to keep up with Joseph and Brandon’s roles as well as your own.” fingers card through his hair and he slumps. “Just spend some time around here, having pack around keeps the little ones calm and they love you anyway.”  
-  
"Don't leave? I feel... heavy Uncle Peter..."  
"Yes, sweetheart. I'll stay. Can't have you telling mean ol' big brother I didn't do my job can I?"

 

 

“Hey, would you heat up some dinner? I can find Buffy on tv or something.” 

“That sounds wonderful.” He tapped Stiles' ankle and rose. 

 

-

 

“Hey, Peter?” 

“Yes?”

 

He turns, Stiles had probably thought of something he wanted for dinner. He couldn’t have expected the crack of a hand across his face and the colors that burst behind his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not too happy with this chapter but i needed to get something done... headspace is weird so either the next update will be swift or glacial?


	13. Chapter 13

His jaw was broken. Under his palms glass dug into his skin, the cup he’d been holding shattered across the cheap linoleum.  _ Get up, get up or you’re dead.  _ His fingers flex, claws digging gouges into the floor as he heaves himself up, away from the creature walking toward him. The blow had sent him reeling, glittering lights floating across his vision as the concussion healed and he stumbled against the door frame.   


“You thought you could make me sleep?” A hand lands heavily on his back, fingers dipping under the collar of his shirt and it pulls, dragging him back to the floor, this time on his back. Standing over him Void seemed to fill the room. He swipes out and manages to score against Void’s calve, drawing blood. The pain didn’t seem to register but the rage did. He’d never seen fury like that- not on anyone but himself. It was a twisted thing and it turned Stiles’ face into a thing of terror, the dark circles that were a testament to his insomnia seemed darker and despite them he looked strong- the exhaustion was gone and when he reared back to bring his foot into Peter’s ribs he was hit with a thought-  _ This is how I die. No coming back this time.  _

 

He rolls with the blow, broken ribs screaming when he tries to sit up and gain leverage. If he went for a killing blow he’d kill Stiles and there was nothing to suggest Void needed his host intact, but he could try to slow him down. A hand grips his throat, blunt nails digging in and he's being pulled to sit on his knees, those dark eyes staring down at him. His own claws dig into Stiles’ forearm and the scent of blood was becoming thick-  _ survival comes first. You can't save him if you're dead _ . He rakes one hand over its’s chest, claws going deep but not enough to force him away; it was getting hard to breathe. 

“That’s not very nice, and here I thought you liked me. You know, Peter. I have Stiles’ memories, his dreams. You have no idea what he thinks of you” the tone was conversational, edged with poison. “How many times he’s dreamed of something just like this. He’s got some phenomenal ideas up here” one long finger taps his temple. “Pretty ones with you just like this, down on your knees. Sometimes, he thinks about what you'd look like soaked in blood, other times well; I'm sure you could guess. No, none of that. You're pretty. I can think of much better sounds for you to make- I bet you scream beautifully.” Rage welled in his chest but those fingers just dug deeper.

Spots fill his vision and the grip loosens, gives him the ability to suck down a shallow breath before tightening again, enough to keep him conscious; the words hardly registered but when they did he heard. Oh yes, he heard.  “No, wolf. You thought you could best me-  _ me  _ you don’t get to die so easy.” He’s being jerked up, flung like a ragdoll to slam into the wall, “I have plans for you, wolf. So many plans.” Pain flared up from the back of his head.

 

Then it went black. 

 

*

 

He could smell blood from the street; the tiny bond that sat oddly in his chest had started to pulse in an unsteady rhythm and it sent his anxiety through the roof. Hed already lost one pack, he wasn't prepared to lose another- no matter how small or how thin the bond. He started running. If there was one thing that held true for Lucien Koch it was his loyalty once he pledged it. He’d been wary of Peter of course, with his reputation he’d have been stupid not to. But when he had felt that bond come to life, warm and  _ alive  _ it was something more than he’d known he wanted. He knew Peter’s eyes were blue behind the red, but the warmth made up for it all. A bond like that felt like acceptance could make up for a lot. His alpha had accepted his eyes, his story, his life and pledge. He owed him too much to name. 

He launched up the steps and froze at the door as a sense of pure dread settled around him. “Peter?” 

The house was still. Dead. The copper tang of blood wafted through the air.

His wolf whined, paced, he crept over the threshold. “Stiles?” it’s a whisper. He’d been warned, he’d been told that being Hale’s beta would be dangerous. That he would step back into a war zone. He’d accepted it. He didn’t think it’d be this soon. He pushes his anxiety down, focuses and  _ there. A heartbeat,  _ Peter is on the ground, the wall above him is dented in and blood is spattered across the floor. There’s no sign of Stiles. Knees bent he creeps across the room.

“Peter?” In a moment he switches from beta to medic, grabbing one of the throw pillows off the couch to put it under the alpha’s head. His skin is cool to the touch and there’s a fine layer of sweat across his brow, blood is crusted across his neck. “Come on, I can’t go crawlin’ somewhere else yet.” His heartbeat is steady, he’s breathing, but Lucien doesn’t want to move him anywhere so he walks the few steps to the kitchen, the anxiety is stronger here, overlying hatred and rage and blood. Whatever had happened it started there. He tiptoed around broken glass to get water and goes back to sit down, kneeling back by his alpha’s head. Cautiously he placed his hand on the wolf’s forearm and thin black lines crawled up his veins. There had been no scent trail leaving the residence but if the nogitsune could mask it’s scent his back to the wall and eyes on the door was the safest he could be. 

 

A voice startles him up, eyes burning bright and claws out. “You know, if you ran I wouldn’t even chase you.” the thing walks- no  _ stalks  _ because suddenly Lucien feels like prey. It drags a rumble out of his chest. “But no, you’re going to be  _ loyal  _ to a man who would kill you with his own two hands if he thought it’d give him a chance of survival.” He’s being caged, trapped against the wall. “Come on,  _ pup,  _ run for it. Save your own hide.” To his left was Peter, to his right a stairwell. In front of him a monster.  He didn't  _know_ Peter, but he knew what he felt and he trusted the curl of light in the back of his mind. Bonds didn't lie. They could be ignored, twisted, broken; but they didn't lie. His hand inches to his jacket.

The fox is faster. First is the feeling of his wrist snapping, then he’s acutely aware of the bones grinding together in a grip like iron. the fox clicked it's tongue “Now now, wolf. Why would you want to do that?” His back hits the wall hard and there’s a hand shoving into his pocket. It comes back with the jar in hand. He struggles against the iron grip. "Was this your plan? You were going to what? Poison me?" 

In a desperate act he surged up, free hand grabbing at the jar and he feels it shatter in his grip. Glass digs into his hand but the contents spatter Void's face and neck, on his lips, drops catch on the sweatshirt Stiles' had been wearing when he left. Triumph becomes confusion becomes rage. 

The grip on his arm tightens, hand cracking across his face and he cries out, then it stops. He wrenches his arm back and the nogitsune stumbles toward the door then falls. “Kanima venom.” he feels it starting in on his own system already locking his muscles down. He has a minute at most. It’s working much faster than on the nogitsune, the glass from the bottle giving it access to his blood stream. He drops down next to Peter, shaking him gently. A groan passes his lips but it’s good. He waking up. “Alpha.  _ Alpha _ .” He can't feel his legs. Fingers are stiff and his arms aren't faring much better.

“Luc?” the wolf’s voice sounds like it was scraped over gravel. “Where is he?” Peter sits up, eyes sweeping over the body on the floor then to Lucien, they widen marginally, then he’s tearing the pillow under him to shreds and using the tattered cloth to wipe the venom off Lucien’s arm and cover what had gotten on the floor. He twists his arm to look at the glass, “I'm going to get the glass out and get you in a chair, the effects will wear off in an hour or so.” he tries to nod but he can’t and that makes his heart hammer. “You did good.” Peter has his own fair share of glass in his hands, pulling the bigger pieces out before he dares to lift Lucien. Peter isn’t steady on his feet but he’s steady enough to put Lucien where he needs and to set the shattered bones.  
He makes a high noise in his throat- the best he can do with the venom working through his system; someone was coming. They were walking up the steps. Peter turned and snarled, protecting  _ him.  _

 

“Where is he?” The sheriff came racing in, two unknown men at his back and Lucien was suddenly, overwhelmingly grateful for the buffer Peter provided. All eyes dropped to the body on the floor, “He’s paralyzed. You need to call Scott, Lydia, maybe even Deaton, get them here. We’re out of time. Oh, and watch where you step.” 

 

*

The takeover was too fast and it left him reeling. Dimly he knew he was in his own head, that he couldn't throw up in his own mind but it didn't make him want to do it any less. There were noises somewhere, through the trees, through the fog. "No use standing here..."   
He steps into a clearing and stops dead at the scene. His own face looked back at him overtop another body. His own eyes catching him while pale fingers carded through dark hair and the man at the figure's feet stared up from his knees. The broad set of shoulders, the strong jaw... he knew that man. The doppelganger's hand fisted in the hair and said something too quiet for him to hear. Peter twisted round to stare at him, eyes reverent and wanting, lips parted. Not him's hands sliding down to his shoulders and back up to his neck- then they twisted and the crack echoes loud and sickening. The body slumps to the ground and the thing steps over it like trash on the sidewalk. Stiles runs.

He runs, and runs, and when he's beginning to think there's no end. That waiting for the punishment is better than freedom there's something new rising from the darkness

Amid a sea of shadows the nemeton stood like a testament to the atrocities of their sins. Not just Stiles, or the Hales, the Argents, but everyone who had a hand in it’s destruction. Here it was full, branches spreading wide and for miles, its bark was thick and among its roots sat Void, a board set in front of them. The roots arched high enough a grown man could stand and still stretch to touch them. Void's never felt small, even here.

 

“Sit down, Stiles. We have a game to finish.” 

“No. I’m done playing games with you.”

“I said sit down.” Sharp. Piercing. Somewhere there was a howl. He stepped forward.

 

“I’m going to kill you.”

“We’ll see.” 


	14. Chapter 14

Peter never seemed caged, never paced, never rambled. Even when literally caged he always played up his control, but there in the Stilinski household, Chris thought it was a close thing. While they waited for the others to arrive the house grew heavy with anxiety. The alpha alternated between studying the nogitsune where they had placed him on the couch and moving to stand behind his beta with a hand on the young man’s shoulder while he regained control. Between Chris and Noah they had managed to get the broken glass, venom, and most of the blood cleaned away while Derek waited outside for the others to show up, standing guard. First was Scott with Lydia close behind, both immediately moving to check on Stiles before getting the story in a few short words from Peter.  
Then they started talking.

“There’s a myth, it says that the nogitsune can’t be two things at once. So if we turned him, we’d save Stiles right? Since he can't be a fox and a wolf.” Derek followed behind Scott, passive as ever in the face of the plan. 

 

“Look at him,” Peter shoots back, “Stiles would be lucky to survive a slap across the face. Between his injuries and exhaustion, I wouldn’t offer him the bite even if he  _ wasn’t  _ possessed. No, we’re going to go in his head and guide him back out.” Peter was right, between the gouges on his chest (which though healing faster than they should have been were still going to scar) and the lack of sleep the boy’s body was on the brink of collapse. Looking at Peter himself though… he looked worse for wear as well. Blood still stained his shirt and crusted on his skin and Chris wasn’t so sure Peter was in the condition to do much more than he already was. 

“What do you mean?” Scott asked.

 

“He’s talking about a spell.” If he could rely on nothing else in life it was that Deaton would show up only when he was able to be cryptic. Chris hated it. “Using your claws he wants you to go into Stiles mind, breaking the bond with the nogitsune and returning. It’s not guaranteed to work though.” 

“Neither is turning him against his will.” Chris shoots back before Peter has a chance. 

 

“You aren’t turning him. Not if there’s another way.” Noah’s voice cut through them all. “That’s not a choice I’m going to take from him.”  

 

*

 

All eyes were on him and he knew the look on Scott’s face. The boy was a second son to him, of course he knew what he looked like when he was about to protest. “No, Scott. This isn’t an argument.” This was his boy’s life they were talking about. “We’ll use Peter’s plan.” And didn’t that just sit right? Peter Hale was in charge of his son’s life. Sure, he’d let him into his home the last few days but that was a far cry from what they were speaking of now. Peter Hale was a murderer of the first degree, he’d paid for it. Sort of. But he was still crooked. 

 

“What does this involve?” 

“Scott here is going to use his claws to go into Stiles’ head, using Lydia as an anchor point, and then he’s going to pull Stiles back out. It's just a matter of finding him and waking him up.” 

“How dangerous is it?” 

“Quite. But so long as it’s done correctly no harm should come to Stiles. The biggest risk comes from the removal of the claws.” 

 

Peter was lurking behind the couch but it wasn’t him Noah needed to hear from just then. “Scott, how do you feel about this?”

“If it saves Stiles I’ll do it.” 

 

“I know you will son. But what I need to know is who here can do it and do it safely?”

Derek was the one who replied, he’d not said a word since they had stepped into the house and every face turned to him. “Peter can.” Derek shifted on his feet, uncomfortable under the scrutiny but he continued “He’s the only one here who’s done it before.” Choosing between letting Peter Hale and Scott to go into his boy’s head should have been easy. He should say Scott and be done with it and trust the kid’s sheer dumb luck to prevail as it always did. Peter could guide him through it. But it wasn't that easy. 

 

“I need a few minutes”

 

“We don’t have that much time, Sheriff.”

 

*

The silence stretched on.

 

“Peter will do it.” 

“Sheriff, I don’t think you understand the gravity here, if you would only call Eichen we can have more time-“

The snarl tore past his lips before he had time to think about it, eyes flaring and gums itching; Deaton didn’t seem phased. The rumors that surrounded Eichen house were enough to stop any sane supernatural from even setting foot on the grounds. To suggest sending Stiles there  _ knowing _ that history was enough to kill the man for. “If you’re going to send him there it’s kinder to slit his throat now!”

“Peter!”   
“It’s the truth. Eichen House will kill him or tear his mind into pieces. Probably both!” He forces the wolf back with strain and straightens, walking to stand behind the fuming figure on the couch. “Am I doing this?” the Sheriff seemed shell-shocked but he squared his shoulders and nodded. 

“Yes.” 

 

“Lydia? Sit beside him.” Regal as ever the girl sat, pulling her hair up with a sigh. 

 

Claws set against pale skin, carefully aligned. 

 

“Okay. Let’s do this.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm procrastinating on the things I should be doing which is good news for y'all! have a new update!

Everything was muted, clean, sterile, stale. Pale walls and tile floors. Familiar. Haunting. Horrible. The sheets under him were white, crisp, impersonal. They smelled of antibacterial soap and nothing else. The ceiling above him had forty three black speckled tiles. Outside the window was a tan building and a dying willow tree. The only sound over his own heart the muted beeping of machines down the hall. He knew this room. He knew it well. Just like the last time there were no straps, no chains, he needed to leave. 

He couldn’t move. 

 

_ No. Not again. Not again. Get up. You’re not really here. There’s nothing stopping you, you aren’t trapped. Just stand up. Don’t panic. Just- just get up Peter. Just stand up and walk away. They can't keep you here. You have control. _

 

His heart hammered in his chest, locked muscles refusing to respond and his wolf howled. Scrabbling and snarling in his mind, begging to be let out. To run. To leave and never look back. Maybe this time he’d even do it. 

*

She walked the halls slowly, they were deserted, no nurses, no families, even the patient rooms were empty or filled with only with faces forms in the beds. She’s moving slow, but her mind is frantic. She woke up alone, no Peter, no Stiles. There’s a whistle behind her. She turns. There’s no one there. She walked faster. Faster and faster until she's sprinting down the halls.

There were names outside each open door, changing from scrawled whiteboards to printed papers the closer she got to the long-term care wards. She reads them in a plur/  _ Aaron J. Gordon K. Hale P.  _ The door is shut, blinds drawn and she stops. She hesitates. Hand shaking above the handle,  down the hall the doors begin to slam shut; one after the other. She shoves at the one in front of her, shaking the handle but it’s locked. She beats on it, over and over. The door two down slams shut, a low rumble shaking the hall and she’s gearing up to scream. To leave this all behind and find another way because she’s certain she’s going to die here and it won’t matter if they find Stiles or not because they’re all going to die. 

 

The door opens and a shaken Peter Hale stands in front of her, dragging her into the room just as a black smoke rushes past the door. “What was that?” 

 

“I don’t  _ know  _ but what the hell have you been doing this whole time? I’ve been stuck out there- with whatever that was following me!” Peter was wearing a robe and was barefoot, a far cry from what he’d been wearing when they were ‘awake’ and she had to wonder. 

 

“I’ve been dealing with my own problems. But we need to find Stiles and fast. If the nogitsune has enough presence to be searching for resistance we might have less time that we thought.” He moved to the door, plastering himself to the frame before leaning to look out. First right then left. “Okay, let’s go.” 

 

*

They walked side by side, moving in the same direction of the shadow. The hallway seemed to stretch on and on, turning every now and then but only right. Only ever right and never looping back on itself. “I don’t like this.” 

“Thank you Lydia, your skills of observation are astounding.” he didn’t recognize any of the name plaques and was half ready to dismiss them entirely but- 

“Well I’m sorry but  _ maybe  _ as the one who’s done this you could- oh I don’t know- find a way out of this?”    
  


He shushes her with a raised hand, not expected it to work but all the same. There’s screaming coming from somewhere, rageful and fear-tinged but not terrified. Not the kind of screams one would expect in a hospital, not grief. He strides on. The screaming is muted, never getting louder but clearer outside one of the doors. 

_  Stilinski C. _

“His mom?” 

She’d been a patient, a resident of the more dangerous section of the ward. The nurses talked about her sometimes. The dementia, how she had deteriorated rapidly- he doesn’t focus on the words coming from behind the door but they come through anyway.  _ I should have drowned you! He’s going to kill me! Noah don’t let him kill me!  _

He lays his hand on the handle. 

“Are you sure about this? I mean- there’s no telling what’s behind there and we need to find Stiles. This doesn’t feel right, Peter.” 

He opened the door. 

 

-

Before him was the preserve, the Nemeton in all it’s glory. He’d known it was great, larger than he could’ve remembered even if Talia hadn’t taken that from him too. He didn’t realize it was like this. Twenty feet around at the least, towering so high there was no hope to see the top and the branches felt as though they spread out for a mile. The roots tangles and rose from the ground, creating a playground of arches. He steps through the doorway, Lydia just a step behind, and he parts his lips to call for the boy. He sees him before the sound can pass his lips. 

He’s sitting cross-legged under one of the roots, across from him is a figure wrapped in bandages, both intent on the board set between them. “Stiles!” Nothing answered but the wind. 

“Stiles!” Lydia called, but there was still no response. Even Void didn’t deign to lift his head. 

“He can’t hear us,” Peter takes a step forward only to hit a wall, a barrier around the Nemeton that refuses to give in the slightest. 

“What if you roar? I mean, I know Stiles is in Scott’s pack but maybe if you break the Nogitsune’s  concentration we can get to him.”

_ Stiles isn’t in Scott’s pack. He’s not Scott’s. He’s mine. Mine. They don't deserve him. I'm the one who came for him.  _

But it might just work. He needed it to work.

 

He takes a breath. Let's the wolf come out and then... 

He howls. 

 

*

The ground shakes, the pieces on the board trembling and across from him Void tenses.  _ What am I doing?  _ He raises his head, and there across the clearing stands Peter, Lydia beside him. Alpha red eyes blaze-  _ What am I doing here?  _ He wasn’t like this, he wasn’t weak. He didn’t play along to a game without rules. He made the rules. 

 

“This game is over.” 

He swipes the pieces off, standing and rage-filled as he stares at Void. “Get out _of my head_!”

 

  
He jerks up, there’s a stinging in his chest, in his his head, but that’s not important. What’s important is that he’s choking. He can’ breathe. He’s dying. It’s all dark. He can’t speak, there’s pressure all around. He tries to speak. He tries to scream. Someone’s holding him down. 

 

“-ait! Wait!” and suddenly he can breathe, gauze being pulled away. There’s bright blue eyes staring down at him and Scott’s worried brows. “Stiles? But that means.” 

 

“He’s gone. So is Lydia.” 


	16. Chapter 16

“Where’d they go?”

Derek and Scott both were out the door, leaving Peter, Chris, Noah, and Lucien with Stiles and too many questions. If anyone could track Lydia and Void it was Derek. Inside the house reeked of blood and fear. Peter was still holding the teen’s arm but his touch was gentler now and he only moved when Noah came close to sit beside his son. Lucien was beginning to stand and the alpha turned to help him steady himself. “Let’s step outside.” The two wolves took residence on the front steps, side by side but not quite touching. The blond leaned over and pressed his shoulder against the alpha’s, brief but a clear desire to offer and to take comfort. The Hale pack had been tactile, wolves in general were, but he had never been so trusting. Had never been so trusted. 

 

Inside the three men were talking, Stiles’ voice was steady enough but the scent of anxiety and what might have been pure rage clung to him. It was a bitter scent, like fruit left too long on the counter. “How are you feeling?” The beta shrugged, the movement jerky. His beta was so uncertain and yet;

“How are  _ you  _ feeling?” 

“Fair enough.” The ritual wasn’t easy, it took energy, it took strength of will and exhausted the wolf who led it physically and emotionally. He’d done it many times, more than he’d admit really, but some were harder than others and after the day he’d had well… he felt as though he could sleep there on the steps. Down the street a figure approached, Peter tensed just a moment before it registered as Derek. 

 

“They’re gone.” His nephew stopped before his reaches the steps, frustration clear in the set of his shoulders. 

“It’s not your fault that you can’t track a trickster spirit, Derek. Not even your mother could do something about this.” Talia had never been the greater tracker of their pack but she had been resourceful. She’s known when and where to push and how to move her pieces on the board, she just never knew how to make Peter move how she wanted. That had been the crux of their issues, their relationship’s defining characteristic many a time he supposed. They loved each other but they were always alpha-beta first in the end. 

“She wouldn’t have had to.” 

“Derek-” there was so much in that statement that he honestly wasn’t sure where to start. To tell him it wasn’t his fault wasn’t going to be helpful, would do nothing more than get him a snarl. To point out Talia’s flaws so blatantly would do the same with the added bonus of a black eye. He could play it, could offer comfort and get Derek on his side, to convince Stiles to join him… but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to manipulate him in this, not using this. In truth he was tired and no matter that they were no longer officially pack there was still that thread, he just wanted to get this over with. He’d talk to Derek after. Yeah, that was a good plan. 

 

“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Lucien.” 

 

The blond was up and offering his hand to Derek, breaking the tension in a way that should be considered a skill. Derek hesitated only a moment before taking the offered hand, “Derek.” 

“I’ve just moved to town, Peter tells me you’re pretty good with cars?”   
“Yeah, sort of. Why?” Guarded.

 

“Well, I’ve got this old Corvette and I’m pretty hopeless with mechanics and I don’t feel much like paying someone to scam me, maybe after all this blows over I can get you to look at it?” Derek was caught off guard, but some of the sourness left his smell and Peter was content to listen to them talk for a few minutes. If he wasn’t so sure the blond was a wolf he’d swear he was of fae blood, magnetic as he seemed to be. 

When it was clear neither man was in any momentary danger and the conversation inside had died off he stood and stepped back into the house. “Chris.” 

Stiles was upstairs with his dad, the hunter staring down at the bandages they had pile up on the coffee table. Deaton was nowhere to be seen. “What are you doing, Peter?”

“Checking in. Derek turned up nothing and Scott is on his way back.”

“Allison and Isaac are safe, Where do you think it went?”

 

“I’m not sure.  I have an idea though, I need to talk to Stiles first. Preferably while the boy wonder is gone.” A curt nod was all he received, Chris was more guarded than usual. Ever since the hallway but it didn’t matter. He had Stiles to look after right now, Chris needed some time to simmer. He’d never been good with emotions anyway.

“Stiles is in his room, you can go up if you want.” Noah had snuck down the stairs and Peter was honestly surprised, unsure if it was a testament to the sheriff’s ability to sneak around or his own exhaustion. 

 

“Thank you.” 

 

The fresh scent of blood assaulted his nose before he even entered the room, his wolf howling in his mind.  _ Calm down. Goddamnit!  _ He knocked on the doorframe and only when there was a quiet “yeah?” Did he push the door open fully. The room was a mess; pages of books were ripped out and scattered around and the board Stiles had worked so hard to piece together was half wiped, photos trampled underfoot. Sitting on the bed, a few papers around him was the teen himself. He was changed into a grey shit that hung so loosely off his frame Peter was sure it was his father’s, and old jeans. “Void wasn’t happy.” Stiles didn’t even look up, gesturing at the mess. “But you probably figured that one out.” 

 

His hand pressed to his own chest, touch light against wounds. “Does it hurt?” He’d done what he needed at the time, an apology didn’t make it okay or change a thing. 

 

“Not much.” Lips drew into a frown as the young man turned a page over. Peter reached for his shoulder, intending to draw the pain away. His hand is slapped to the side.  

 

“Don’t!”  _ Finally.  _ He was being looked at. “Don’t touch me.” 

“I just want to help with the pain. But I won’t if you say no.” instead he grabs the rolling chair and pulls it over to the bedside. The room smelled thickly of sickness and pain and he itched to throw open the window but he knew it wasn’t safe. With a slim hope Stiles would let him draw some of the pain away he let his hand sit on the bed while pouring over the papers. “Where would he go to regroup?”   
“Oak Creek.” No doubt in his mind. Angere bubbled under the boy’s skin and Peter could only wait for it to overflow. Stiles’ voice is quiet, rough, but its steady. “But we can’t go unless we can kill it.” 

 

Hesitant fingertips touch the back of Peter’s hand, he turns his palm. “How do you suggest we do that?” 

“I don’t know.” a pulse of anxiety and he starts drawing on the pain. The fingers slide down, twine with his own. 

 

“Then let’s start at the beginning.” 

 

*

She was beautiful and smart and tenacious and he loved her like he’d never thought he would love anything. From the moment she had been placed in his arms, so tiny and fragile he’d known that he would do anything for her. He would die for her. His daughter. 

“I was such a perfectionist I made seven bullets before I was happy with one.” It was one of the few memories of his father that wasn’t completely destroyed by the horrors he’d committed. One of the happy ones with both of his parents, His father had guided him through it with a critical eye but once the first bullet was made he’d clapped him in the back and told him he had done good. His mother had kissed his forehead when she found him six hours later still working on making them perfect and looked over his craftsmanship.  _ “I’m so proud of you, Christophe.”  _

 

It didn’t top Allison looking up at him then, saying, 

“I was thinking I could make an arrowhead?” 

“Of course. I’ll go and start on dinner.”

“Hey, Dad?” She sounded uncertain, hesitant. He hated it, resting a heavy hand on her shoulder. “I’m really proud of you, you know that right?” 

_ I’m proud of you.  _ It was supposed to be the other way around wasn’t it? But then again. Warmth bloomed in his chest and for a moment everything was fine, the cracks that had started long before Victoria died in his arms didn’t ache and nothing was trying to kill them all. Just for a moment he knew he’d done well and a smile spread over his lips. 

 

“I know. I’m proud of you too, Allison.” He hugs her tight, “Whatever happens in the future I love you and I’m proud of the woman you’ve become.” He didn’t expect them all to survive the week, whatever plan that was settled on would have at least one casualty and he knew well enough it was likely to be him. He’d fight it, of course, he wouldn’t leave his daughter without her parent, but he had never been an optimist. “Now get to work, I expect you to have one done by dinner time.” Teasing felt too foreign for comfort but it was nice to see her laugh and shove him out of the room. 

  
  


His mother had loved to cook, he’d learned to love it from her as well. It was good; to create, to provide. There was relaxation in cutting vegetables, in waiting for water to boil, and in mixing spices. Victoria has been the primary cook while Allison was growing up but he’d never lost a love for it. 

So he cooked. His daughter carried on tradition. And somewhere out there a darkness loomed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first arc is drawing to a close, I expect about 4-6 more chapters in this one, I have the plot for the second story arc already finished up too.
> 
> Also~~ I have another story in the works for Steter - a musician au. Though I won't start posting it until this part is wrapped up


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to all my readers in the U.S. have some Hale Family Feels.

It was after 11, closer to twelve really. Stiles had exhausted himself to the point of sleeping sitting up, hand still loose in Peter’s own, leaving Peter to tuck him under the heavy throw blanket and stack his papers on the desk. His boy was stubborn and the amount of pain he’d pulled from him was astounding.. He’d let Noah know what was going on before driving to the loft. Lucien had left with Derek after some wheedling from Peter and a demand from Christopher that no one be alone. Apparently he had taken Peter’s old room upstairs to sleep off the lingering effects of the venom. 

 

“What are you doing here, Peter?” His back was turned, tense in the reflection of the paned glass windows. 

“It’s not your fault.” 

Bitter laughter was his reply, the kind of laughter that made hatred for the world and it’s atrocities bubble in his own chest at the parody of the happiness that once lived in the boy. “You don’t have to lie.” 

“I’m not lying. None of this is on you. None of it. Derek, you couldn’t have done anything to stop this anymore than you could change the direction of a hurricane.” 

 

“I could’ve not fucked the first thing that looked my way. That probably would have helped.” 

 

_ “Derek.”  _ He was surprised but he didn’t think he should’ve been. He’d known the rage that lived under the surface, he had suspected it was turned inward. 

“What? It’s true.” 

Peter replied softly in the face of Derek’s rage, unwilling to provoke him. “Maybe. But it’s still not your fault. Now or then. You might not want to hear it from me but I’m the only one here; nothing that happened to our family, to our  _ pack _ , is your fault. That’s on Kate Argent and she’s rotting in hell for it. I have never blamed you.” Two steps forward. 

“But it was. I was so  _ stupid  _ and then with  _ her.  _ I just keep doing the same mistakes and people keep dying for it.”

“You were a  _ kid _ , Derek. There’s a difference.” He’d been young and enamored and Kate was good at what she did and even when he wanted to kill everyone involved with the fire (not that he still didn’t) he had never counted Derek among them. Even when he was abandoned he’d known it wasn’t on Derek. Not fully. Not even mostly. Was he blameless in that crime? No. But was it worth losing the last of his family for? “Kate played you, just like she had played a hundred men with more experience and caution than you Derek. And with the Darach? No one knew what she was-“

“I should have!” 

“How?” 

The silence spoke for itself. So heavy it would’ve taken a sword to cut through it. 

“You know, your mother screwed up a lot. And I mean a lot. One time she mis negotiated with a Fae and almost had to give him your sister as payment.” 

“What?” He pushed on,

“She wasn’t perfect. I know your memories of her are probably of the perfect alpha, a loving mother who did no wrong; but she wasn’t. I loved her, but I was her left hand. I don’t know how much of that you remember but I cleaned up her messes and patrolled for her so often one year that your Uncle James bought me a broom for Christmas.” 

“I remember that…” they had been careful, keeping the children out of their mess, it wasn’t always a disaster but there were enough times Peter wanted to throw in the towel and make someone else get dirty. But the pack was worth it. They were always worth it. 

 

“She was a good alpha.” The words burned his throat before they passed his lips but it was true. She was a good alpha for most of them. “But she wasn’t perfect. She sure as hell didn’t have to deal with anything like this, and she never dealt with it alone. So whatever you’re thinking in that thick head of yours it’s not right. You aren’t responsible for all of this, alpha or otherwise.” Derek turned, his eyes were glassy but that was as close to crying as he would come and they both knew that. “Do you understand?”

 

“Yeah…” his eyes were downcast and for a flash he looked so very young. He was never meant to have been alpha. Especially not so young. Peter hated what it had done to him. “She almost sold Laura?”

 

“Oh yeah, I believe her words were “if you want blood I will give it to you” and it went downhill from there. It took me and James  _ and _ your grandparents to figure that one out.” 

“How’d she get out of it?” 

“We gave him permission to claim the preserve as neutral ground for festivities and for five years we dealt with a fairy sitting in on our summer and winter solstice celebrations and eating more food than half the pack combined.” He eased down to sit on the arm of the couch, watching as Derek relaxed and, after a moment of hesitation came to sit in the chair across the table. “But if you think that’s funny, James was cursed on vacation by a coven because he hit on seven out of ten of their members in a nightclub. He had to speak in rhymes for six days and your mother nearly tossed him out of the car- he turned her hair pink after she duct taped his mouth shut while he was sleeping.” The barest hunt of a smile edged on Derek’s face. 

 

“I thought he didn’t get into the prank wars.”

“He  _ started over half of them _ . Even after the girls were born.” It was good to see him smile. Even It if it felt bittersweet. 

-

“Hey Peter?”

“Hm?”

“Whatever stupid plan we go through with; don’t die.”

“You too.” 

For a moment it almost felt like they were family again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This more like chapter 16.5)


	18. Chapter 18

“You keep saying we- Stiles you can’t go. What if you get hurt?”

He and Derek had talked for hours, until sleep weighed too heavy to be ignored and they bid each other goodnight without words. He’d been back to the Stilinski’s by noon the next day to form a plan, Scott glaring at him over the table. 

“Fucking try to stop me. Void isn’t going to stop and I need to do this, Peter back me up!” Indignation was writ in the line of his body, arm flung aside despite the way it had to pull at his chest. Peter couldn’t endorse him.

“You’re a half step away from death.” 

“ _ Fuck you.  _ I’m going.”

“Fine, but you’re sticking beside one of us.” 

“No!”   
“Fine. Deal.”  He understood revenge, the soul-deep desire to hurt what hurt you. He knew that well. He also knew it wouldn’t accomplish what the spark wanted from it, but it could help. It was better than shoving him aside and not being able to watch him to protect him. To ensure the shaking in his hands didn’t worsen and his heart didn’t stop as the nogitsune drew its power from his former host. 

“Peter, no! Stiles you’re human. I don’t want you to get hurt!” 

“Too fucking late! Look, Scott, I’m going. Whether you like it or not. I’m part of this. I’ll stick with whoever but I’m going.” 

 

“You heard him.”

*

The plan was simple enough. They would split into two groups, one to focus on the Oni and one to trap Void. He no longer had a host and therefore the plan to give him The Bite should work perfectly. Group one was Derek, Lucien, and the twins. Group two Peter, Stiles, Scott, and the rest of them. Allison was supposed to cover them from a distance and Chris was back up. Stiles was going to find Lydia. It was a good plan. Solid. The larger group would go in first and Derek’s would follow once the first was engaged.

 

It was Scott who was the first to step across the threshold and Stiles just behind. It didn’t mean his shaking legs didn’t try to give out as he saw the true carnage around them. Void had been busy indeed. The ruins of the camp were burned out shells and blood splattered the ground and walls. There was screaming and rioting-  _ Kill them all! Kill them!” heat licked at his back and side, tears burned their way down his face and the screaming only grew louder. Bones were crushed to powder beneath his hands and pleading words fell like music on his ears. They were so fragile- these humans. Even the wolves that threw themselves in front of the young and bared vicious fangs snapped like dead twigs and their dying whimpers as quiet as any snowfall. Hands pulled at him, as though they were worthy of  _ mercy  _ from his hands. As though they did not bring it upon themselves. He threw back his head and laughed, turning to face the man who dared think he could be stopped with so mild a grip-  _ “Stiles!” 

He blinked. It wasn’t fire and blood around him but dust and ash. There were no bodies, only Chris was holding his wrist and it felt like he was going to shake apart. “I’m okay. I’m okay. Let’s keep going.” 

 

Void was waiting for them in the courtyard, flanked by his guards at both sides. “Welcome to the party gentlemen.”

 

*

The swords burned like wolfsbane where they touched, slicing through flesh and soul alike. There were five Oni and nine of them but it wasn’t close to a fair fight. It was good that Peter never planned on fighting fair. The demons never seemed to go at Stiles, Stiles who was edging closer and closer to the tunnels where they were sure Lydia was being held. To his left was Scott, Derek, and Lucien- his nephew and beta back to back with Scott at their left flank dealing with two of the spirits. The twins were paired together against one and Isaac was watching Christopher’s back, leaving one for himself. 

The cuts were shallow and he shifted further, letting the wolf come to the surface, moving on instinct and letting it direct him.  _ Back, roll, blood too much blood- no. Pack is safe. Keep going.  _ Isaac let out a cry of pain. Peter turned in time to watch him fall and see the demon turning to Christopher.  _ Protect him.  _ He made it two steps with pain lanced through his back, the wolf howling with it-  _ weak. Too weak.  _   
An arrow by his cheek, burying itself in the demon’s chest and it was gone just like smoke. 

And somewhere a banshee screamed. 

 

*

It was as though time slowed, the scream rang out in his ears but he didn’t know if it was Lydia’s or his own. If it was even real at all. One moment Void was alone, watching the battle passively but the next Allison was beside him, his hand around her throat- and a blade in her chest. It was like watching through frosted glass, slow and distorted, Scott roared, Isaac howled, Chris… Chris was frozen in horror. Scott threw himself at Void who released the girl’s throat and the wolf move to catch her instead and Chris was shaken and fired off several shots at the nogitsune. Just like that it all came rushing back in. It was so  _ loud,  _ The rage burned through his blood, he was so fucking tired of losing everyone he loved. He was  _ sick of it.  _ He wanted blood on his hands, he wanted it so badly that for a moment he wasn’t sure he had ever woken up at all. Maybe this was all a dream, a new torture from Void- but no. The surge of fire in his veins wasn’t ancient. It was new and brilliant and he wanted to watch it  _ burn.  _

Everything narrowed down to him and Void. 

 

“ _ Stop.”  _

He didn’t want him dead. He wanted him  _ erased.  _ He didn’t want him trapped for eternity- he wanted him to suffer unimaginably. Void reached for him when he was in range and Stiles slammed the hand out of the way. “What do you think you’re doing?” Void wasn’t scared, but he was worried. Stiles didn’t smile. 

“A divine. Fucking. Move.” He wasn’t sure how he did it, he only knew that the fire in his blood was there one moment and gone the next and so was Void. The body shuddered and collapsed, his own mirrored face blank and dead and he only felt a flicker of joy for it. In a moment the spark flared one more time and the body crumbled to dust.

Behind him someone was crying.  _ Allison _ . 

*

“Scott, get up. Listen to me, you have to tell them the same thing.”

His daughter was dead. His daughter was  _ dead  _ and he was coaching a werewolf how to cover it up.  _ My daughter is dead.  _

 

Peter was looking at him like he had a right to be concerned. Like he  _ cared.  _ Stiles… Stiles wouldn’t come near him and Derek had already gotten the rest of them, barring Isaac, out… but his little girl was gone.  _ Stop it. You can handle this. Get this over with and then mourn. Don’t be so fucking weak-  _ Peter left next, just before the cops arrived. Never one to stick his own neck out after all. Then he was fielding questions. He would forever be thankful to Noah who got him out as quickly as possible. Isaac followed him with tears welled in his eyes.

 

The drive was silent.  _ You’ve dealt with worse. She wouldn’t want you to cry. Put it away. You know how to do this. _

Isaac still wouldn’t leave- Chris wasn’t sure he had anywhere else to go actually. Yet, still. He followed him into the foyer and stopped. “You don’t have to stay.”  _ was that his voice?  _ “I’ve dealt with this before. I can-” he takes a deep breath, steadying his shaking hands “I can compartmentalize my emotions. I’ll be okay.”   _ If you hadn’t consorted with wolves she would still be alive. If you hadn’t betrayed your own kind.  _

“I can’t.” 

The wolf was shaking, tears falling freely down his face and just like that it broke. Isaac was taller than him but it didn’t matter. He folded down and sobbed like a child- Chris wanted to join him. Instead, his tangled fingers in his hair and held him until the sobs died down to whimpers and the hands clinging to his jacket loosened their grip. “Don’t make me leave?” small, broken, Isaac sounded like the voice in the back of his own head and he hated it. The voice that didn’t sound like his father, the one that liked to rear its head just before the anniversary of his mother’s death and when he looked in the mirror of a dive bar motel room and wondered what he was doing with his life. It made him want to run. 

Instead, he gently pushed Isaac away and wiped at his own cheeks. “You should try to get some sleep.” 

 

-

 

Isaac was finally asleep, too exhausted to hold himself awake, curled up on Allison’s bed with Chris’ jacket draped over his shoulders like a child’s blanket. Chris was tired, wrung out, feeling fragile in ways he didn’t think he could anymore. The ways that Gerard had beaten out of him. But he couldn’t sleep. Not when every time he closed his eyes he saw her. Saw the ways he was too late. All the things he’d done wrong. If only he had been there instead of her, if he was faster, if he was smarter, if was a better fucking parent that to let him stand alone on a battlefield. When, even over the numbness and the harsh thump thump of his own heartbeat words whispered through his mind that it was his fault. That so much could have been different...   
He closed his bedroom door, leaning his forehead against it like it would hold him up. It was a second too long before he realized he was not alone. He didn’t turn, didn’t bother with acknowledging the wolf who had decided he belonged here. The one who belonged nowhere. Who never had.   
  
**_“Why?_ ** ”  _  Why her? Why now? Why are you here? Why weren’t you  _ there _? Why wasn’t I there?  _ __  
“Because you need me.” Rage welled up in him, overtaking despair and shock and the cold dead feeling trying to carve a home in his chest right next to scarred mass that he had put there himself twenty years prior. The one that hadn’t dug in when he killed and buried his wife, when he had buried his mother, it wasn’t a stranger but now... now it was almost welcomed. If he was numb then it didn’t matter.  He knew who was to blame but the ones he needed to blame for the horror show the last years had become weren’t around.    
But Peter was there and so it was Peter who would bear his rage.    
*

  
Peter knew Chris, better than even Allison or Victoria could have. Maybe this Christopher wasn’t familiar, wasn’t the same man but the base components were the same. He knew that he wouldn’t face this. He’d push it down, compartmentalize it away, bottle it up and wait for it all to come crashing down around him. He knew because they were similar in that aspect. But where Christopher never let himself feel it, Peter felt too much. Chris needed to let go. Peter needed to hold on. So he pushed.    
  


He was good at that. Pushing someone’s buttons until they flew apart at the seams. Chris was easier than most to dig at, but much harder to break. Usually.    
But he didn’t want him to break. 

 

The first blow was sharp, skin splitting under the blow but the hunter didn’t give him a second to consider his split lip before the second blow came. Peter healed fast and that only served to make Chris swing harder, determined to make  _ something _ last. About the sixth time fresh blood hit the air, the wolf snarled and shoved, lashing out with sheathed claws and blunt teeth, never aiming to hurt but not shying from the pain. 

 

The brawl, because it was far too messy for a fight, lasted mere minutes, bruises and blood and broken things littered both men and the room and it only ended when anger turned inward and when Chris lunged for Peter’s throat with a blade he ended on his knees instead. The knife fell to the carpet, moved further aside by Peter’s hand as the wolf kneeled. “She’s gone, Christopher. You’re hurting and if you don’t let it out it’s never going to stop. It’ll drive you mad.” The rage, the pain, the helplessness, it festered and burned and twisted inside a man until it became him, until nothing was left but that; grief and rage and regret. Peter knew it well. He hoped Chris never would. 

  
Peter wasn’t a good man, not before the fire and certainly not after and he knew that. But he was a good wolf, with keen instincts and a drive to do what was needed even if it wasn’t what was wanted. Christopher though, the hunter had always had a mean streak, a bloodlust more fitting beast than man that he controlled- but as a man he was good. He  _ regretted  _ the bloodlust. But he was a good man; always had been. If that was going to change it wouldn’t be in the way the fire had changed Him. No. Peter would make certain of that.    
Fine tremors wracked strong shoulders and Peter reached out, laying an arm around them. Chris rocked forward into him, a sob tearing from his throat. It was a raw kind of sound that twisted deep in his gut. His wounds were fresh, there was no revenge to be had. 

  
Peter took his weight, breathing shallowly as though it might filter out the scent of pain, the salt of the tears streaming down the face of the man in his arms, trying so hard to stay quiet even as he cried. Like someone would dare tell him to stop. Peter didn’t say anything, no empty condolences, no easy reassurances, he just allowed the hunter to cry, as though any words would break the spell and Chris would retreat back behind his walls of ice.    
After an eternity Chris stiffened and Peter let himself tighten his arms. “Don’t. Just let me take care of you.” There were no questions, only another shaky breath, and a small nod. It wasn’t trust. It was exhaustion. He knew that.

Chris let himself be pulled up, pushed into bed, his boots slid off and tucked neatly under the edge of the bed, and the blankets pulled over him before he spoke a word.

“Why?”

“...Go to sleep, Christopher. Face this in the morning.” and with black lines crawling up his arm he didn’t give the man a choice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a bitch to write and I'm still not sure it's right. Oof though am I right?


	19. Chapter 19

The morning hit him hard, not like a brick but like a sickness. Like a flu that had settled deep in his bones and he didn’t want to breathe let alone move. The bedroom door opened slowly, letting light filter in and for a split second and he thought -  _ Allison’s going to be late for school if she’s just now leaving _ . Then he wanted to cry. 

“Christopher.”

“go away, Peter.” 

The bed dips at his side.  “I’m going to make you toast, you can either get up and come eat it or I’m going to come back in here and you won’t have a choice.” The words were soft despite the firmness in them. The silence stretched on for a few breaths before he turned his head, eyes still closed, and nodded once. Reality didn’t stop just because his world did. 

*

Isaac was sitting on a barstool, shoulders hunched in and blanket pulled around him like a shield when Peter came back to Christopher’s kitchen. If he was surprised to see the older wolf he didn’t show it, only hung his head back down. “I’m going to make toast, would you like any?” 

The wounds from the fight were healing slowly, way too slowly as far as Peter was concerned. There were two slashes left healing , one over his side and the other on his back. They were scabbed over and he supposed another hour or two would see them healed. He itched to see how Isaac’s were faring- the boy was only three steps from omega if he were to wager a guess but he was strong. Instead he begins rummaging through the kitchen. The kid was still technically in Scott’s “pack” and it would be a while before Peter could properly start building his pack anyways. He needed to get his standing back- Lucien was a twist in that plan but a pleasant one. Isaac was a different breed.   
  
“Please.”

  
Chris came in twenty minutes later, eyes lingering over the boy before he took a seat, staring down at the plate Peter’s sets in front of him. “You can leave.”   
“Which means I can stay.” 

  
He didn’t think the hunter would  _ do  _ something and it wasn’t really his business if he did- but from a strategic standpoint he should stay. Chris was hurting, as was the young beta the hunter had taken under his wing- it was an opportunity. That’s why he would stay, later he would go back to Lucien, then to Stiles. “Eat. Both of you.” His wolf was content with providing and it was beginning to annoy him. He felt like he had when he was hardly more than a pup, just before his eyes turned blue. Not to say he didn’t have the moments after, but before, with Chris and Talia before she became  _ Talia;  _ and After still with James and his nieces and nephews. He hated that Chris could play with his instincts. The alpha in him was half ready to purr with the feeling of taking care of it’s pack- despite that neither of them  _ were  _ pack. 

  
He stayed until Chris had eaten and stood, brushing his hand over Isaac’s shoulder with a soft “I’m going to shower.” 

After his breakdown the night before, well deserved as it was, he seemed to have pulled the pieces together. He would ride the “I’m fine.” excuse until it put him in the grave.

“Isaac.” The boy was at the sink, putting the dishes down and starting the water like he was going to wash them. “You don’t have to do that.” 

Silence. 

“Okay.” 

 

*

She was dead. Allison was dead and it was  _ his fault.  _ He’d let the nogitsune out. He couldn’t beat it - but he did. He killed him. He had killed an ancient being and he’d enjoyed it. The look of panic in his eyes as he crumbled and how the Oni dissipated afterward.  _ Cut off the head…  _

He’d wanted it to suffer. But he wasn’t fast enough. He couldn’t stop her from dying and he couldn’t help Scott and he sure as hell couldn’t tell Chris he was sorry. Words couldn’t fix it. 

 

He had come back alone, Scott falling into bed at his own house before Stiles went through the streets by himself. Shadows moved and he drove faster and he didn’t have the energy to even sprint to the door like his instincts begged him. He just collapsed down onto the couch and stared at the scratch in the table from where he had drawn scissors across it while wrapping a present for his mom the last Christmas they were all together. When things were okay. 

 

That’s where his dad had found him, an hour after he had collapsed. There were no words to be said, his dad just sat down and let him twist until his head was in the man’s lap and he could hide his face against the soft cotton of his shirt. He wanted to cry but he was sick of it and so the tears wouldn’t come. Fingers stroked through his hair- and then it was morning. And she was still dead. 

 

“Dad?” Noah was still underneath him, arm draped over him and sitting up. It couldn’t have been good for his back. He didn’t need to be falling asleep on the couch for hours because Stiles could walk the twelve feet to his room. But he didn’t try to move away. He was selfish like that.

“Hm?” 

“I’m sorry. For everything.” 

 

*

He’d been through far too much. His son had gone from being a child to a survivor of horrors unknown and he hadn’t seen it happen. He had been blinded by drink and denial. But he was alive. Hurting and scared and scarred but he was  _ alive _ and for that Noah would be forever grateful. He had to do better. He had to be  _ present _ . Seventeen and already he had seen the horrors of war- supernatural and fought behind the scenes of everyday life but war nonetheless and Noah hadn’t noticed until it nearly killed him thrice over. Lying and sneaking around aside he knew he was lucky. He loved his kid. He had no doubt Stiles loved him. He only wished he could protect him. 

 

“You don’t have to be sorry for a thing.” The Stilinskis weren’t men who talked about their feelings.  _ But you should.  _ “Hell son, I’m the one who should be apologizing. You- you’ve done nothing but your best.” He rubs his back, feeling the way it rose and fell unsteadily. “I love you, I’m going to be here from now on.” 

Stiles was scrambling up and throwing his arms around his neck, pushing Noah back into the couch.  _ You almost lost him. You almost lost him but he’s here. You need to be too. Take care of him. You almost lost this.  _

“I love you too.” 

 

*

Peter showed up a day later, sitting on the back steps when Stiles looked out the window. It took but a minute of deliberation to decide to join him. “How are you doing?” 

“That’s a stupid question. How is… everyone else?”

“Derek is fine, all healed. The murder twins lived and Christopher is… well, he’s Chris.” Stiles sat on the other side of the steps, about a foot of space between him and Peter. 

“What about you?”

“What about me?” 

“You know what I mean. I… I killed Void. Was that part of my spark? Is that what having it means?” It had felt destructive. It  _ was  _ destructive. If that's what he was meant to be he didn't want it.    
  


“No. Your spark is based on your will. What you did was necessary and it was powerful- yes you killed Void but that doesn’t make you a killer, Stiles. Your spark will respond to your needs, creative and destructive alike. You did what was needed.”

“Are you going to keep helping me? I don’t even care why you’re doing this anymore I just need help. If I hurt anyone else I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“You won’t. You wouldn’t hurt the people you care about.” Stiles wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t felt in control while he watched Void crumble to dust- he had felt almost as powerless as he had when the demon was inside his head.    
“How can you know that? You don’t know what it feels like to have this power inside you.”   
“No, but I know you. You care too deeply to hurt anyone you love. Even subconsciously. And yes. I’ll help you. My library is open to you and you have me whenever you need.” Peter was… sincere so far as Stiles could tell. He had been achingly so the past weeks and it threw him off. Or it would have if he cared anymore. 

 

“Do you want to come inside?” 

  
  


”I wouldn’t be opposed.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This "act" is going to have probably about 4 more chapters in it so stay tuned!  
> I'm excited to get to the next story arc here and for the new project I have in the works for a "i finished my finals and didn't die or cry too much" celebration.  
> As always I appreciate all of y'all and your kudos and comments and I hope the holiday seasons are amazing for you guys.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finals. Four days. Five tests. Have an update now and I'll see you again on the other side of this!

The week was a long one. There were funeral arrangements that he had to deal with and people who thought he needed _condolences_ of all things. Flowers and locations and music and he  _ didn’t want to do any of it _ . He didn’t want to think about how delicate white flowers would look laid atop a silver casket. Pale as the body laid inside of it. He didn't want to think of her lying under dirt and never seeing her smile again. He didn't want to keep _breathing_ and hearing the words  _I'm sorry_ over and over. He wanted to sit in her room and mourn her in peace. To grieve without the looks of pity from people who didn’t deserve her memory. People who didn’t understand a god damn thing. 

But on the day of it he stood. He dressed. He went. Stone-faced and silent he didn’t care about the whispers. He was there, and afterward, he and Isaac drove to the far edge of town to a dive of a restaurant where no one knew his name and they sat and they ate and they didn’t say a word. 

 

Going back to his apartment was the last thing he wanted and the only thing he could do. Peter was standing in the lobby, dressed solemnly and looking at him for the first time that day without pity. He didn’t think Pity was an emotion Peter could even feel. He hadn’t seen him at the funeral but it didn’t mean a thing. He didn’t deserve to be there either. 

 

“Why are you still here?” 

“Don’t do that.”

“What?” 

“Pretend you don’t know what I’m doing here.” The wolf came closer and Chris stilled. “You can’t keep it boxed away.” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s going to kill you, and you know I’m right.” 

“Maybe you are.” Peter moved away before their shoulders could collide and then he was gone. 

 

*

“I can’t do it.” 

“You’re scared.” 

“Fuck you. I’m not scared it’s just not working.” With nothing else to take his mind off the events of the past weeks he’d thrown himself at the books Peter had left with him before it all began. Allison’s funeral was the day prior. He didn’t want to think about that. He hadn’t gone until after it was over- no one wanted to see him there…

 

He shook his head and focused on his task. The theory was that he could do whatever he believed he could, usually in conjunction with another piece of magical energy- in theory. So they’d started with what he’d been able to do before, stretch mountain ash. 

“It’s protective magic, Stiles. It  _ cannot _ backfire on you- just do it.”  Peter was sitting across the room, but now he stood and crossed to where Stiles was holding the tiny pouch of mountain ash. He stopped less than a foot away. “Turn around, focus your mind, and imagine what you need it to do. If you don’t make it stretch then anything can come through that window.” Peter was careful with touch, he hadn’t been overly physical before the nogitsune but he touched people, he touched Stiles. They hadn’t been together often but when they were Peter kept his distance until Stiles initiated something, be it shoving him out of the way when he was standing in front of his board or otherwise. Stiles turned his back. He trusted Peter enough for that.

“Close your eyes- and throw it. You’re doing this to protect your dad.” 

_ Just stretch for me, protect him. It’s just a little further.  _

He threw the ash. 

 

Opening his eyes he couldn’t stop the split second grin that grew on his lips. Turning around to find Peter standing closer-

“Good job; Now do the rest.” 

*

 

“I found a house.” 

“Oh?” 

There was a coffee shop on the fringe of the downtown district that had stood there before Peter could walk. It was made of sunbleached brick and its sign hadn’t changed since 87’. It was a nice place where the girl behind the bar knew his order before he did most days and whose owner still looked at him sadly on some others. The old woman was kind and pushing into her mid seventies but still sharp, the first time he stepped back through the door she had known him instantly and that was a comfort as much as a pain in his heart. She was the first person to hug him- stiff though his return had been. 

 

“Yeah, it’s not far from the industrial district, it needs a little work but it’s nice.” 

“Is it what you want?”

“Yeah. It’ll be nice to have a place that I can paint the walls.” The blond was quiet for a moment, sipping his coffee. “Are you going to tell me what you’re thinking?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can feel it, you’re… I don’t know- apprehensive?” the beta was just holding his coffee cup, pale blue eyes caught between concern and passive curiosity. He was perceptive and in tune with his wolf. He felt the bond more strongly than Peter expected if he could tell what Peter was feeling without projecting. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. 

 

“Nothing is decided yet.” 

“Which means there’s something to decide.”  His wolf felt cagey. He didn’t like being interrogated even though he knew this wasn’t an interrogation. He knew that. It didn’t do much to stop the way his mind told him to deflect. Lucien had sought him out. He needed an alpha and he had done well over two weeks to prove he could be trusted- at least in some things. He’d been willing to risk his life for him. He could handle the truth. He’d left his pack for years and came back, he wouldn’t fly at the suggestion Peter had. 

 

“I may leave the country.” 

“When?”   
“I’m not sure. You’re welcome to come with me, if not I understand that too. You’re still welcome to be my beta regardless of what you do.” Restlessness rattled in the little bond. 

 

“You would come back?”   
“Yes. You would have ways to contact me. You would have Stiles and Derek as well if you needed.” Derek wasn’t exactly pack but he was family and Peter felt safe enough in volunteering him for an alliance. He seemed to have made a friend of the blond already.  He would come back. He wouldn’t  _ abandon his pack _ . 

 

“But you haven’t decided.”

“No.” 

“Okay.”

 

It felt too easy. 

 

*

Scott showed up four days after he managed to mountain ash the windows. He opened the door and hugged him like it didn’t make his skin crawl. “You didn’t come to the funeral.” 

“I wasn’t sure it was the best idea…”

“Oh. Yeah, I get it. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine man. How is Kira? I know her mom was mad...”

“She’s good I’m actually meeting her for SAT prep tonight.”  _ oh. Okay. Yeah sure-  _

“That’s awesome I’m glad she’s not moving. Did you want to come inside? I’ve got pizza rolls.” They were still in the oven and he was half sure Scott wouldn’t be able to resist the smell. 

“Oh um, I was going to take mom some food at the hospital but next week? We can do a movie night and you can finally show me Star Wars.” 

 

_ Yeah. Next week.  _

 

*   

 

Chris always locked his door, his paranoia- was it paranoia when it saved his life?- ran deep. He had always double checked the systems ad windows for all the good it had done in the end. So when he climbed the steps to his apartment and there was a plain envelope attached to the door he had to pause, wondering if maybe he was too lax in his security. Isaac was inside though… he would have called if anything was off. He didn’t know anyone who would leave letters on his doorstep.

 

Chris considered the envelope before deciding there was little to lose and simply picking it up and going on inside. He moved straight to his office and collapsed into the chair, staring at the envelope which had a singular thing printed on its front  _ C. Argent.  _ He cracks the seal on the envelope and tips it contents onto the desk. 

Five items fell out. Three slips of paper, a silver medallion that made his chest  _ ache _ , and a leather band that made his blood run cold and his heart pound. He picked up the medallion- Kate’s. His mother’s. His family’s. He’d never expected to see it again after he’d had to leave it for the police to wrap up the case. Wasn’t sure he had wanted it back with the memories it contained. He sets it aside for now. The bracelet is next, battered, woven leather with a silver and bronze clasp. It didn’t feel like anything more than a bracelet in his hand and that in itself felt  _ wrong.  _ As though the little item should have burned and bitten like the memories it brought with it. As though it should have felt like an old friend come home. He considers throwing it away, across the room, into a drawer never to see daylight again. Instead, he sets it down gingerly across from the first item. Then came the paper. Three identical slips. Approximately two by six inches in length. 

He turns them over in his hands and stares. 

 

_ Paris, France; 10:17 flight. February 28th. One way. First class.  _

 

He was still holding them when Isaac knocked on the doorframe. He hadn’t shut the door. 

“What’s that?” 

“Nothing. Just some things someone left for me.” The tickets were placed face down. “Did you eat?”

“Yeah.” 

 

There was too much silence to fill these days. 

 

*******

 

It was a week before Peter was cornered by Chris at the coffee shop. He’d been sitting alone in the back corner with his laptop running at his right hand and his third cup of coffee in his left. The hunter slips into the chair across from him without a word and simply sits there until Peter deigns to acknowledge him. He let him wait a full minute before closing the laptop and looking him over. The man looked like hell- and Peter had been there. His eyes were tired, black circles touching far down below them and it seemed like he had aged ten years in seven days. He hadn’t shaved but there was no alcohol on him and Peter supposed that was more than he expected. If there hadn’t been revenge to cling to he wondered if whiskey would have been his own crutch; if he would have chased after the broken pack bonds or broken down. He’d liked to think he would have pulled it together. 

 

“Why are you doing this, Peter?” 

 

_ Why? That’s a good question…  _ Because he didn’t want to see him hurt? He wouldn’t believe that if he said it. They weren’t those types of people anymore. The ones who simply believed that the other cared without a need for an upper hand. It was true. He liked the game of gaining power. Of keeping it and knowing the weaknesses of the people around him. He was man enough to admit that he had enjoyed the things he’s done, wasn’t prepared to apologize for 90% of it. Their history was messy but he didn’t hate him for it. Maybe he used to. He had for years. But he wasn’t a child anymore. He couldn’t answer the question without being honest, painfully so in this case.

“Because, for all our history, I don’t want to see you dead. How many people are buried here now? This town isn’t good for you- for any of us really- but you need to get away from these ghosts. Isaac too.”  

“He still hasn’t graduated. I can’t just take him to France.” 

“Ask him first, Christopher. Let him make his own decisions.” 

Another cup of coffee as set on the table; black, two sugars, in a to-go cup. Chris waits until the girl left the table to continue and Peter knew what was coming. 

 

“There were three tickets.”  

“Yes.” 

 

“Why?” 

“I would go with you. If you didn’t hate the idea. We aren’t the kids we used to be and this town is a hell hole I could use a break from.” 

“And if I said I would rather put a bullet in you?” 

“I think you’re lying.” The man had always been hard to read, even when soaked through with grief. His ‘training’ was terrifyingly thorough. Heart steady, eyes cold, posture straight even when the world was on his shoulders. He was impossible. 

“Am I?” The wolf wanted to snarl and snap and demand he tell the truth. The man knew he would never do it. Would never admit what they had so easily- even when it turned to ash.    
So, Peter sighed and leaned back, spreading his hands in a contained  _ what can you do  _ gesture.    
“If you say no then it’s a no. I’ll stay here and I’ll build my pack. If you say yes well-” and he lets himself smile, almost genuine but not quite so, “- I promise I won’t cause any trouble. Besides, Isaac would need another wolf around. Even if it isn't ideal and I'm not his alpha I could get him in with another pack far easier than an Argent could." Tired eyes flicked away, staring at the cup in his hands until he seemed to have reached a decision.   
  


“Fine. Okay."

 

It was a bittersweet victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me, I promise Stiles and Peter are going to be a huge part of this but there's a lot of ups and downs until we get there. Just hang on with me cause there's so much to come.


	21. Chapter 21

“-nse?” They had met at Peter’s apartment for the first time since Stiles had last come there about the books before the nogitsune took control. Peter was in the chair as usual, Lucien sitting on the couch. Some documentary was playing on the tv and Stiles was lost in a book on nature magic. He looks up, confused for a second as to who spoke. 

“Repeat the question?” 

“I asked if you would like to go over some self defense? Not of the magical variety.”  _ He’s not serious. No way in hell.  _

“Yeah, right- cause that’s fair.” 

“A fight is never fair, Stiles. Besides, I wouldn’t be trying to hurt you. Just showing you how to fight and letting you practice the moves. If you feel like I’m too unfair you can always try with Lucien.” Peter was actually being serious and Stiles wasn’t sure if he was touched, about to laugh in the alpha’s face, or throw up. Maybe all three. “If you say no we’ll leave it at that.” They’d been working on his magic, on his  _ spark _ for a while but they hadn’t done any actual self defense or fighting work. It requires touch and space and more time than they really had before. It was a good idea, he could admit that. Knowing how to disable an opponent or get out of a hold was valuable information that the few very spread out years of basic defense “classes” his dad had put him in at the station didn’t count for much. He bookmarks his page. 

“Yeah sure, why not. You aren't allowed to laugh at me though.” 

"I wouldn't dream of it."

 

They pushed the furniture to the sides of the room to make floor space. Peter stood across from him, open and relaxed and Stiles tried to mirror that but his nerves got the better of him. “Let’s start small.” The wolf holds out a hand, palm up and Stiles puts his own in it. “I’m going to grab your arm and you’re going to get out of it.” They go through the motions a few times,  _ twist in and down and swing wide and up, _ with one hand and then the other and then with both at once. It wasn’t exactly new information but it wasn’t instinctive and that was important. They move through a few variations before Peter steps back and Stiles says,

 

“Let’s try for real.”

“Okay. Hit me.” 

Stiles swings and Peter sidesteps. “Stiles. I’m not going to break. Swing like you mean it.” He fixes his feet. He throws a right hook, steps left, undercuts and lands a hit to the wolf’s ribs only to be grabbed and spun, back slammed into Peter’s chest. He strains forward. “Plant your feet.” Peter’s skin is warm and voice is low, breath ghosting against his neck like the warmth of a flickering flame in the snow. “A little wider.” His arms were like iron around his chest, but Stiles wasn’t panicking, it didn’t feel like a trap. He knew one word would let him walk away. “Put your weight back, hands on my arms- there you go- and throw your weight forward and dip. Throw me.” The first attempt ends with Peter’s feet slightly off the ground and a frustrated noise from Stiles’ own throat. Peter squeezed him a bit “Try again. One movement.” 

One moment he’s being held back and the next Peter is on the floor, laughing up at him. A flare of triumph blazes in his chest. 

“Alright! Now let’s see if you can do it again.” 

 

 

*

Three hours and Stiles was sprawled over his carpet, Lucien fared better where he’d collapsed back into his chair after a few dances around Peter and dodging Stiles. Peter crouched by his boy’s side. “done for the day?” 

“My ribs say yes.”

“Just your ribs?”

“Well my spleen and lungs might agree. But my soul wants me to kick your teeth in.” His grin grew wider. 

“Wow you think that you might actually land a hit for once.” A lazy hand bats at his shoulder with a groan. “You did good, Stiles. It’s just a matter of practice now. Before long, with your spark, you should be able to mix your power and training and be absolutely deadly.” 

“Yeah? You gonna be my practice-wolf?” 

“Yeah. But I think Derek might be better equipped for that job.” He wants to fix the mess of hair on the teen’s head but he refrains. “How does a pizza sound?” 

“Really, really good but I need to call my dad.” Stiles heavens himself up and goes for his phone on the table. “I’ll be back.” He steps out into the hall and Peter drops down to his own elbow, comfortable on the floor.

 

“You haven’t told him?” The blond was looking at him as though he had something on his face- Peter didn’t like to be judged and the beta was toeing a line with his tone. 

“It’s not the right time.” And it wasn’t. Stiles was recovering, he needed a support system and something that was easy on him. He didn’t need to be focused on Peter’s plans right then. He was going to get his boy back up on his feet and ready to face whatever life decide to throw at them next, then they would discuss Peter leaving and what Stiles would do in the meantime. Stiles wasn’t a clingy person. He’d be fine without him for a while. The spark was already getting along with Lucien and Peter trusted his nephew not to royally fuck up in his absence. The Boy Wonder was a different story but Scott could be handled even at long distance. Stiles would be fine.

 

“Ah. Yes, I suppose the right time is the day your plane leaves?” 

“Watch it.” he growled. Just because he hadn’t told him yet didn’t mean he was going to be  _ awful  _ about it.

“Yes, Alpha.” 

 

Stiles came back inside on a second wind, his energy back in no time. He was still subdued compared to  _ before  _ but he was  _ alive  _ and the difference was astounding. “So dad says hour and a half and that I have to bring him some but I can stay for pizza.” 

“Good, if you want to take a shower, I’ll call it in.” 

“Um, I didn’t bring a change of clothes. Like I’ll take one but I don’t think it’s going to help with the overall aroma here.”

“You can wear mine.” The idea of Stiles in his clothes was an appealing one for more reasons than that he would smell like pack. Like  _ his.  _

“I’ll get you some clothes.” 

 

*

Isaac had said yes as soon as Chris told him about the tickets. It was hardly even a question for the young wolf. Between Beacon Hills, with its monsters and memories and France with its new potential. Why would he stay? He was eighteen and he could go back for his GED later if he wanted. His grades weren’t the highest as it was and when it came to the bottom line  _ he didn’t care _ . He just wanted something new. He had no family in Beacon Hills, no friends really- Derek and Scott didn't count. Scott he hardly knew and Derek... Derek tried his best but that was a relationship that needed so much work it was hardly a comfort. He needed something new. 

 

Chris couldn’t argue with that. 

 

When he broached that Peter would be with them Isaac simply shrugged. “I don’t have any issues with him. Other than being a smarmy dick he’s not done anything to me.” Chris didn’t say the last point Peter had brought to his attention. That Isaac was a wolf. He needed a pack and Chris was woefully unequipped to deal with the French packs and establish Isaac a place with them. Isaac couldn’t do it. Peter, for all his faults, made an excellent liaison. 

So, with that settled they started to pack. They had three weeks, minus a day or so, before the flight was scheduled to leave but Isaac needed luggage and clothes and Chris needed the distraction from his rental agreement and packing Allison’s life into boxes. It turned out Isaac had a love for soft things and earthy colors and he needed constant reassurance that it was okay to spend money. He insisted no less than twenty times that things were too much and it took a firm “Isaac, please. Choose what you want and don’t look at the tags. I’ve got it more than covered” before he finally stopped looking guilty. 

 

*

Peter put Stiles in a pair of his sweatpants and a maroon shirt whose collar had been a little stretched out and when the teen came back into the living room he couldn’t help but let his eyes linger on the exposed skin. Their scents were already mingled and it made contentment curl in his chest. Lucien gave him a look at that, little bastard could probably feel it too. Like he didn’t enjoy the idea of more pack members. 

 

“Ooo you got meat lovers!” 

 

They gathered around the kitchen table and Peter listened as Stiles bickered over which run of Hawkeye was the best. Stiles was arguing vehemently for what he kept calling ‘the Ronin arc’ while Lucien was grinning and firing back about a Fraction run. Peter was content watching them. 

By the time they had looped back around to Batman vs. Wonder Woman - which was a fast debate in all honesty- they’d put away a whole pizza and were starting in on the second. Lucien mentioned his new place to which Stiles chimes in with what he knew about that neighborhood, mentioning one of the local deputies lived out that way. It was all very domestic. He thought he could get used to it without much trouble at all. With a family as large as his had been there was always a murmur of conversation in the house, arguments that devolved into laughter, and a sense of simple belonging. Even when they didn’t get along they were still family- they were still  _ pack  _ and that trumped every petty argument one could bring up. He hadn’t realized how quiet his life had become. 

 

“Okay I need to get going, thanks for tonight. See you later?” 

“Whenever you want to come over.” 

“Cool, cool. Okay, I’m taking the rest of this? Awesome! Goodnight guys.” 

“See ya Stiles.”

“Bye, let me know you get home.” Peter locked the door after him. 

 

With the human out the door the wolves settled back into a momentary silence. 

“I’ll tell him in two weeks. I want him settled before I go and I won’t have him know a moment earlier.” 

“I get it. Really, but if you think that waiting is going to save you from whatever heat Stiles get in him over it you’re insane.” 

 

Well, no one had ever said otherwise. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this was worth the wait! Finals went well and I'm super excited for these next few chapters! I'll try not to leave y'all on too many cliff hangers.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important Conversations

Two weeks wasn’t enough time. Why he had ever thought otherwise Peter would never know. Stiles spent six days in his apartment, Lucien eleven. He packed his essentials, just two bags for his clothes, grooming kit, etcetera. And if he packed the blanket from the couch that the other two interlopers frequently wrapped up in that was no one business but his own. Then he unpacked it all and repacked it again. Christopher had sent him a singular message in that span, 

_ I notified the local hunters that we’re coming. There shouldn’t be any problems.  _

 

They had a hotel lined up, two rooms because  _ trying  _ didn’t equal  _ fixed  _ and together didn’t mean  _ together.  _ Peter figured they would stay a few weeks in the city before Chris became done with it and left for the countryside. The hunter never did well surrounded by the lights and noise and the ideals of his fellow hunters for too very long. Or so it had once been. Time could change so very much.

 

He had spent a lot of time with Lucien, both in his own apartment and in the beta’s new home. It was a quaint little place big enough for one and some company to be comfortable. It was good. The wolf seemed proud of it, it needed work but it had a huge kitchen and Lucien had the funds to fix it. Peter was sure it would be amazing. 

Derek was another story. His nephew was quiet in the aftermath of the Nogitsune and, in truth, the Alpha pack- but Peter found him easily enough. He wasn’t hiding, licking his wounds perhaps but not really hiding. Derek was never meant to be an alpha. Talia has been built for it loathe as Peter was to admit such at times, hell - even Laura had the backbone for it even if she didn’t have anything else. Too arrogant. Too young. But she could have been a good one. What happened when Derek took on the role wasn’t exactly  _ his fault.  _ To deal with a hunter like Gerard and a pack of Alphas back to back it was only expected that there would be casualties. He would have wagered on more than had occurred honestly. Did Peter ever say this aloud? No. But it was the truth. He’d even forgiven the way Derek killed him. He hadn’t been right in the head. Not entirely. He was dangerous and he could admire the ruthlessness it took to stop a threat. Looking back, had he been in the right headspace there was little he would have done differently in planning his revenge. The execution was where he had gone wrong. 

So he found his nephew standing on the balcony of the loft- which could use some first class interior design if Peter had anything to say about it- there wasn’t half the tension there had been before. 

 

“What are you doing Peter?” 

“I’m here to tell you that I’m leaving for a while.” Derek gives a hum like he couldn’t care less but he turns to face his uncle. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back but until then I wanted to ask you to look after Stiles.” He didn’t think he needed to request the same for his beta. Lucien would be just fine. 

 

“Why would I do that?” 

“Because you two are friends and I’m asking nicely.” 

“We aren’t.” 

“Aren’t you?” 

Derek drew up short because he couldn’t deny it and Peter knew that well. Stiles had pulled Derek out of the frying pan too many times for him not to owe him even the title. “I’m not asking you to be his keeper just to check in on him in person every now and then. Like Pack.” 

 

“Why are you leaving, Peter? I thought you had a beta now- a pack. I didn’t think you’d just abandon that.” 

His lip twitches in an aborted snarl, “Don’t you dare tell me about  _ abandoning my pack _ . I have my reasons for leaving and I don’t have to justify myself to you,  _ nephew _ . I’m leaving and it’s because I  _ need to  _ and that’s all you need to know.” There’s an intense stare down where neither man wanted to back down. Derek broke away first. 

“So will you do it or not?” 

“Yeah. I’ll keep an eye on Stiles.” 

“Thank you.” A pause where only the cars of the city sounded between them. “If you need me feel free to call.” he made it back to the door before he paused and looked back, “Hey, Derek? Try not to need me.” 

 

*

 

Stiles wanted to learn Astral Projection. Peter told him “certainly not”. Astral projection requires both an anchor and an intention if it was to be safe and sparks were already a conduit for magic without inviting extra energy around. There were a hundred other things he needed to learn beforehand and he understood that. It didn’t mean he didn’t still want to try. When the wolf told him that returning was the difficult part and without the right knowledge he could be trapped outside of his body well. Yeah he could wait a little while. It wasn’t like they didn’t have time. 

 

“So what  _ are _ we doing today? Because I want to try something new.” 

 

“Oh, so you mastered your protection runes?” 

 

“Well. Kinda.” For weeks all he’d been  _ doing  _ was protection spells and he was bored with it. He knew it was important. He was excited to learn it and be able to protect the people he loved. But monotony - even the magical kind- still drove him up the wall. His brain was buzzing and not in the fun way. He’d brought what he had done with him and he drops the Rowan wood circles onto the table. There were eight in total- four were carved before Peter gave them to him and two were ones he attempted. The other two were blank. “I think the ones you gave me are active but mine- well I tried to copy the ones I activated but I couldn’t make them work. They’re just carvings and I can’t feel anything from them- oh! I am starting to get a sense of my magic when it’s working now, its like an electric taste on my tongue I can’t explain it - it’s a sense but not? But yeah okay so I can’t get mine to work but I got the others. I don’t know where I’m going wrong.” 

“Did you try drawing your own sigils?” 

“... no.” He hadn’t wanted to mess up and ruin the wood pieces Peter had given him but he supposed Peter had point. His spark was unique and he could’ve followed what felt natural… he would try it later. 

 

“Okay. Let’s test the ones you did.” 

 

“Cool! Wait- what?” 

 

-

 

By “test them out” Peter apparently meant “I’m going to drive us to the preserve and you’re going to shoot at me.” Stiles was  _ not  _ prepared for that. The black pistol was heavy in his hands and he was careful to hold it toward the ground. 

“I’m not shooting you!” 

“Not if you did your spells right.” 

“Peter!”

“Stiles, they’re not real bullets. They’re rubber, the worst that will happen is a few bruises.” Peter had stepped up close, holding up one of the bullets for inspection. “Trust me.”

 

The intention was to deflect an attack, to absorb the impact without harming the bearer or to change the trajectory of an attack.. Peter walked across the clearing and held up one of the carvings in his fist. “Ready when you are.”

Stiles raised the weapon, his hands shaking until he changed his grip and took a deep breath, closing his eyes until he felt calm enough and opening them again to aim. On the end of the exhale he pulled the trigger. Peter remained as he was. Unaffected. “Did it work?” 

“Where were you aiming?” 

“Your chest.” 

“It went by my ear.” The wolf opened his hand and the talisman was revealed. The wood was charred black and the rune carved into it had splintered toward the outer edges. Stiles couldn’t help but grin as the wolf stooped to grab another talisman. “I think it worked… Let’s go again.” 

 

By the end of it only two working talismen remained. The two that Stiles has drawn remained as they had been and two bruises had bloomed along Peter’s skin briefly before he had tossed them aside. There was one that Stiles had tried before they drove over, following his instinct and it had been a success. A close one by the way Peter had looked at his chest afterward but a success nonetheless. 

 

“So next week can we try again? Maybe we can get Luce to come and work on the defense stuff some more.” 

They were almost back to the car. 

 

“About that. Stiles, I’m leaving on Wednesday for a while. I’ll be back but I’m not sure when.”  _ Wait what? Wednesday. Five days. He was leaving for an undefined period of time. Peter was leaving. He was leaving him.  _

Stiles stopped walking. 

 

“What?” 

“I fly out on Wednesday.” “And you just- weren’t going to tell me?” He was hurt. Betrayal ran deep. People left all the time. People just up and left without a care in the world for the people they left behind and that’s just what people did. But Peter wasn’t supposed to. He was surprised he was surprised. He was angry.  “I’m telling you now. It didn’t seem such a big deal. I thought you would want to get settled back down before I left.” “Yeah that’s why it’s such a fucking secret.”  “Stiles.”  “No, Peter. Just don’t. Fucking- don’t say a word. Screw You very much actually. So all of this shit, the whole ‘pack’ thing was bullshit? Why? Why the fuck did you even pretend to give a shit? What was all of this? God I’m such an idiot!” He was so stupid. So naïve. Peter had probably decided he wasn’t worthy to be in his fucking pack and had spent the last two weeks delighting in the strings Stiles had danced along to. “Why did I ever think… no just. No.” “It’s not bullshit, I want you in my pack. That hasn’t changed but there are matters I have to attend to. Stiles none of this was a farce. I want you in my pack. I want you to be safe and happy.” Peter was standing there looking like he was almost telling the truth, like he was the one who was being hurt here.

“Fuck you!”  He swings wildly and feels skin split under his knuckles. 

And yeah. He was angry but more than that he was hurt and angry he was hurting and for a second he hated the man before him with so much passion he was scared. Then he was scared for an entirely different reason. Hands gripped his arms, backing him against the car and Peter was in his face with glowing eyes and a snarl.  _I’m going to die._ * Stiles reeked of betrayal and anger, bitter and sharp like bleach. It made him want to howl. _Don’t leave. Stay with him. Forgive me._ The words that were flung at him hit harder than any bullet and, for the briefest moment he wanted to bare his neck and throw all his plans away. He had failed him. He wasn’t worthy. But the man was stronger than the wolf. In part. 

 

Between one heartbeat and the next he has Stiles under his hands, nose and mouth inches away from the thin skin of his throat. 

 

“I’m not abandoning you.” His chest rumbled with the words, he could feel his fangs pushing at his gums but he fought them back while Stiles scent grew sour with something more than anger. 

 

“No. You’re running because you’re bastard who doesn’t give a damn about anything or anyone.” His heart was pounding and Peter could feel it. He could feel the heat from his skin, the way his pulse hammered and how lean muscle tensed under his hands where they were holding on a hair too tight. He could smell adrenaline and anger and fear layered over peace and triumph that taunted at him that it had been only moments before the honey sweet scent was all there was. He could almost taste the salt and crackle of energy on the boy’s skin. Almost. It was addicting.

 

“I’m not running away. I’m leaving to take care of some things. I’m coming back for you.” He couldn’t explain all the reasons. How it felt to walk down the street and see the ice cream parlor where he’d had his first kiss with Elizabeth Rogers when he was fourteen only to realize it had been gutted and every last linoleum time that remembered he existed was gone. How he walked into the grocery store only to walk back out because John Tyler Watson that he had graduated with was in the only check out line and the man reeked of pity when he recognized him. How it felt to pick up a phone to dial his father’s number and letting it ring once before realizing that the little old woman who had taken it years ago was probably tired of his forgetfulness. How it felt to know that the town you called home had become foreign and how it only remembered your tragedies. He had pushed for Chris to leave but it wasn’t only Chris who needed to run. He was running. But he  wasn’t running away. “I’m coming back to you.” 

 

“I hate you.” 

“No you don’t.” They were chest to chest and Stiles’ mouth was merely an inch away. It would be so easy to claim him. To make sure no one mistook who he belonged to. Just a kiss. It would hurt a thing. A simple press of lips. 

“Why?” 

But he couldn’t. That temptation was so indulgent… if he kissed him now he didn’t think he could walk away. He would be able to let him go. 

 

“Because I have never lied to you before now. I won’t lie to you. I will come back and I’m not abandoning you.” He repeats. “I’ll still be in contact. If you need me I’ll be there. But I can’t stay in Beacon Hills right now. Do you understand?” 

 

“I think so.” Honey eyes flicker down, muscles under his hands tense and relax and Peter pulls away before the boy can lean in. Taking one step back. He wasn’t strong enough not to react if Stiles kissed him. To deny himself what he wanted. 

 

*

Peter had almost kissed him. He had almost been kissed. By Peter. He had almost kissed  _ Peter. _

 

“Where are you going?” They were driving slow back toward town and the anger was still there but it had taken a back seat to everything else that had built up between when his back hit the car and when Peter stepped away. It would come back but for now it was okay. He’d ride out the calm until he couldn’t. By then Peter would be gone.

 

“France.”

“What about Lucien?” 

“He’s been away from his pack before, and, like you he has my contact. Any time you call I’ll answer… I did offer to take him with me.” Peter’s eyes were on the road ahead. 

“But not me?”

“Would you leave your father, Stiles?” And that. That was fair. His dad needed him and he- well. He needed his dad. 

“That’s What I thought.” 

“Please don’t think I’m doing this because I don’t care.” 

“Yeah. Whatever I just. You’ll call?”

“As often as you need.” 

“Are you going alone?”

“I’m going with Christopher and Isaac.”  _ Well that was unexpected.  _ “Isaac requires an alpha and representative to get into a new pack overseas and Christopher well. You understand why he’s leaving.”

 

“Yeah. I guess. Peter?”

“Yes, Stiles?” 

“I’m still mad at you. But I think I understand.” 

He had never been so happy to be home, his dad was in the kitchen and there was dinner on the table and no wolves or kitsunes or demons and the lingering betrayal took its leave as he sat down for the evening. He wasn’t alone this time. He had people even if he didn’t have Peter. Peter wasn’t leaving because of him he just had to remember that. He had Scott and Kira and Derek and Lucien and his dad.

  
  


He could survive a summer. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed some minor story details in Chapter 2.   
> If anything is super not clear in any of my chapters and you guys want to know more feel free to shoot me a message on my tumblr @faetxlity !
> 
> as always, love y'all, be back soon!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in two days?! I know right!  
> So the new semester started today so I thought I'd celebrate a day done with another chapter!

The airport was busy, there were babies crying and people arguing and constant buzz over the loudspeakers. It was loud and hectic and human and Chris felt like he could get lost in the buzz of it. Isaac looked lost in a far different way. He lays his hand on the boy’s shoulder, offering an anchor and steering him toward the windows where less people were gathered. They had well over an hour before their flight would leave and just as they stepped from the flow of people he caught sight of Peter coming toward them. The wolf was wearing a suede jacket that somehow didn’t feel pretentious and there were three coffees on a tray. He rolled one suitcase behind him with a duffel on top of that. 

 

“Here, I brought coffee.” Isaac hesitated a moment before he accepted the cup Peter held out, not standing from where he had sat on the floor. After a minute Chris  joined the wolves on the floor, his own coffee cup in his hands. Isaac seemed overwhelmed when a group of students headed their way, laughing and shoving each other. “It’s a lot isn’t it?” He leans forward to look over Isaac and see Peter. The alpha was looking forward but his words were clearly for Isaac. The window shook with the roar of a jet engine. Isaac nodded.

“Have you ever been on a plane before?”

“No.” 

“A little tip, find one thing to focus on. A song, a movie, a heartbeat- find one thing to anchor yourself on and let the rest of it be background noise. You’ll drive yourself crazy if not.” the boy closed his eyes, fingers clenching lightly around the cup in his hands before he sighed and relaxed against the window. He kept his eyes closed but Chris could see the change after just a few minutes. He shares a look with Peter then they fall back into silence, broken by a few comments about the people around them and the plans once they get to where they’re going. By the time they’re boarding the plane Chris can almost see this whole thing working.

“Have you met the packs in France?” Isaac asks when they’re standing at the bottom of the steps. 

Chris answers, “yes.” and the same time Peter says “A long time ago.” 

“Will I have to join one of them?” 

“Not if you don’t want to, it’s part of why I’m here.” 

“If you find one you want to join I won’t stop you.” Chris almost hoped he would find one the moment they landed, one the other hand he didn’t want to let the boy out of his sight. Sitting in the middle he sighs, stretches out as much as he can, and settled in for the flight.

 

*

Isaac takes the window seat, excited like the pup he was. It was almost easy to forget that Isaac had been a wolf all of a few months. Yet he’d managed to find control and keep himself alive which was impressive enough. That he had next to no training, other than what Derek had managed to provide in his own hurt way, made it more impressive. But he was a pup nonetheless and he'd seen little of the world. After a half an hour the novelty of clouds passing him by wore off and the teen turned to the movies provided. An hour more and he was asleep- Chris wasn’t faring much better at his side. 

“What happens if he doesn’t get into a pack?” Chris twists, clearly expecting Peter to give him an answer, he pauses the book he was listening to and removes an earbud.

“Nothing. You’re worried about other hunters right?” Because of course, when a new wolf enters a territory without an alpha and doesn’t seem to have pack ties he’s clearly an omega and going to be put down. “I’m an alpha and, by all technicalities Isaac would be my pack if anyone were to ask. Beyond that he’s stable. For a bitten wolf he’s got impressive control- I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, Christopher. After all, an Argent would bring a dangerous wolf with him." Chris looks unamused so he tacks on, "Now do yourself a favor and go to sleep.” 

-

Peter wakes them up just before they reach Paris, pointing out the window when Isaac blinks blearily at him. The uptick in his heartbeat when he takes in the view is satisfying. To still have someone around who got  _ excited  _ at the little things. He was ready to get out of the tin can honestly. The air was stale, the smell was only made bearable by the worse things he’d been forced into over the years and the extra dab of cologne he’d splashed on, there wasn’t a baby on the plane  _ thank gods  _ but there were businessmen who were starting to grate on him. Stepping onto the tarmac was a relief and he could hear the way Chris’ breathing changed with the knowledge he was out of reach of Beacon Hills. Their bags were retrieved relatively quickly and Isaac seemed lost when both Peter and Chris spoke French with the workers. 

“I don’t think high school prepared me for this.” 

“Did you take French?”

“Yeah but I don’t think I understood anything you just said.” The night air was chilled when they exited the airport, bags pulled along behind them as they ambled toward their cab.

“You’ll learn.”

-

Chris had insisted on two rooms. Peter had compromised and booked them a sprawling suite for a month with three rooms within it, a full kitchen, and a private jacuzzi on the balcony. It was expensive but when they finally reached it Peter was too tired to appreciate the luxury. It was twenty after two and really no one could blame him for it. That didn’t mean that Isaac didn’t stop dead in the doorway on entry and Chris had to push him gently to be able to get inside himself. 

 

“Your room is to the right, go lay down. In the morning we can go get breakfast.” Chris was  _ gentle  _ with the boy, palm on his back as he guided him forward. Peter wondered at the power grief had to change a bond. 

When Isaac was in his own room and Peter had put his bags down he followed Chris down the hall. The hunter was standing by the bed when he knocked on the open door, announcing “I left the light on for Isaac.” The sickly sweet smell of grief was already starting off of the man, like peaches left out too long until they began to cave into themselves. Peter hated that scent. The one that was so unique both to emotion and man. He hated that he couldn’t do anything for it.

 

“Okay.” 

“Goodnight, Christopher.” 

 

*

When Chris laid in bed that night he spent an hour staring at the dark ceiling. He knew that just down the hall was Isaac, asleep and hopefully peaceful in his rest and somewhere there was Peter likely doing the same. He knew that beyond the walls there were a hundred other people, happy and on vacation, doing business and celebrating honeymoons. He knew that outside the windows there was an entire city of people who were so blissfully unaware of what was walking around them in the daylight. How true their nightmares might be. He knew that he couldn’t bear to be one of them and that he couldn’t stand the way he’d lived the past years. His life had cost him everything, for all the good he had done in the world he had to wonder how much bad he had created as well. How many of his father’s sins were actually his own. 

 

_ What was I supposed to do? I tried to keep her safe. I tried and I failed and I let her mother die. I let Victoria die and I hate her for it- I loved her. I love her still and I hate her all the same. If she had lived-- she would have been a terrible wolf. But maybe Allison wouldn’t be dead. If I had been stronger. If I had only done everything differently. Gerard ruined you- made you a great hunter and threw you at the wolves and you can’t bear to see him die. What’s wrong with you Chris? Get a grip! You ran away to France with two werewolves- _

 

The thoughts wouldn’t let up. He tossed and he turned. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing and all the same he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t stop the flood of thoughts in his head. Instead he stands, flicks the lamp on and starts unpacking. He rearranges and ensures the few weapons he had made clearance for are where he needs them to be. He looks at the too big bed and turns back around to refold his shirts. By the time the room was deemed finished it was almost five and the drag of sleep had settled into his bones. 

Dropping back onto the mattress he tosses pillows to the floor and lays on his side, thinking that maybe- just maybe - they could make it through this. 

 

Come mid-morning he finds that Peter had gone out and bought crepes from a bakery a block from the hotel. He was sitting on the divan watching some soap opera when Chris walked in on him and didn’t say a word. He motioned to the box and was quiet when Chris sat near him in one of the armchairs, food and coffee in hand. 

Isaac woke an hour later and sat across from Chris. “So what are we doing today?” 

“I thought we could go shopping. Get some food, see the city. What do you think, Christopher?” 

“I think that sounds like a decent plan.”

 

When they hit the streets, Isaac asking questions about sights and history and language with the adults answering in turn Chris thinks that maybe- just maybe- _ Allison would be okay with this _ . 

It makes the sky seem a little less gray. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the first arc.  
> A chapter closed if you will. I debated 22 being the closing chapter but it didn't feel right not to set up Chris, Isaac, and Peter for their new journey. 
> 
> That said- updates should hopefully come as regularly scheduled but! I have another story about to start with Peter and Stiles so watch out for that one coming soon.  
> This story will continue here and not a separate piece of work so don't worry about having to look for a different link on this. (Do however, look for a "series" button to pop up in the coming weeks/months - college is a bitch so I don't make promises on this being quick - as I have snippets that will fit into the first arc that didn't make it into the main story line if you want to see more "behind/between the scenes" things) 
> 
> As always I love you all! Your comments are super appreciated and even though I haven't been replying to them all or that often I read them and I adore them and I have a lot to say in response to some of you I just haven't had the time! Hopefully I'll get to be doing more of that this year too!


	24. A Second Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go!

He had forgotten how much he loved France. Europe in general really. The ability to be himself without any expectations from anyone around him. No one here knew him by name and face. One perhaps but never both. They didn’t see him for the blood on his hands. They would know him as alpha, not the blue-eyed beta of the Hale line. None of that followed him here. 

 

On the first day he had watched Chris take wonderstruck Isaac through the streets, pointing out landmarks and adding his own remarks on several sites. The first day was simple. They were tourists in a way. He hadn’t been in the country in ten years and Chris hadn’t been in five so there was more than enough to keep them busy. Beyond the sightseeing Peter had insisted that they go to a market place for fresh food for their stay. Chris called him a food snob even as his heart sped up. The man loved a good meal just as much as Peter did and no time would ever change that. It was a by-product of too many meals on the road. 

 

At seven that first evening Peter sent Stiles a message, 

 

[ _ Stiles: 7:03]  I hope you’re well. Call me when you have the chance.  _

 

At nine, standing on the balcony of their suite he called Lucien. With nine hours between their time zones, he knew the wolf would be up and, most likely, about. “Evening, Alpha!” The man was endlessly bright and Peter had to wonder how he’d ever attracted such a beta. Not that he was complaining. He could do far worse for his pack.   
  


“Good afternoon. How are you doing?” The bond had felt fine on his end but he knew that as Alpha he wouldn’t be feeling it quite as strongly if there was strain due to the distance. It was a blessing and a curse. On one hand it was meant  that an Alpha with many bonds wouldn’t be overwhelmed by small inconveniences. On the other it made it harder to keep tabs on his beta’s mood. He had no doubt that before too long he would be in tune enough to monitor the man’s mood long distance if he so desired but the distance would make it hard to grow their bond.   
  
“I’m doing good. I was a little shaky yesterday evening but I think it’s passed. I’m going to try to get dinner with some people tonight, maybe Derek.” And wasn’t that an interesting friendship if it did indeed take off. “How’s Paris?” 

 

“It’s Paris.” 

“Yeah, sure. I expect photos, at least one a week.” 

“I’ll do what I can.”

 

The second day was much like the first with a bit of wardrobe shopping thrown in as well. Peter had even managed to slip Christopher a new shirt when he wasn’t looking. Really, the hunter needed something more than his t-shirts and “practical” jackets.    
He sent Stiles a second message. Then a third hours after.

 

_ [Stiles: 10:14] I hope that you aren’t throwing a pity party. _

 

It was the third day that actual business started to be done. Christopher had a meeting with the local hunters. A check in, letting them know what he was doing in person and establishing that he was indeed the real Christopher Argent. Peter stood in the kitchen as the man put himself together. The entire place smelled faintly of misery, Chris didn’t want to go. It had been clear since before they touched down that he wanted nothing to do with hunting for a long while. Yet still. He stopped at the counter and stared at the coffee Peter had set out. “You can be gone in ten minutes, tell them how long you’re staying, that you aren’t here for business, and leave.” 

 

“I know.”

 

_ Do you, Christopher?  _

 

“Don’t kill anyone while I’m gone.” And with that he left, coffee untouched. Reading Christopher’s mood through sight or smell or even listening to his heart was difficult. The man was different than anyone Peter had met, a better grip on his body than most hunters and the knowledge of wolves that surpassed even a pack member. He was a good soldier. It drove Peter crazy.

 

Meanwhile, Peter had his own business to attend to. He’d put off contacting the local pack since they had touched ground but any longer and it would be taken as a sign of aggression if he wasn’t careful. So, he sat down and called. Isaac was still messed up from the time differences and sleeping to attempt to get back on track.

 

 “Hello?” 

 

“Hello, this is Peter Hale I’m calling to set up a meeting with Ms. Bienvenue.”

“What matter of business do you have,  _ Mr. Hale.”  _

“Pack business.” There’s a long pause before a noise of understanding can be heard. “Very well. Just a moment.” 

While he was waiting Isaac joined him in the main room, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. 

 

“What are you doing?” 

“Setting up a pack meeting-” 

He holds up two fingers before the wolf could say more, “Are you able to meet at 4 this evening, Mr. Hale?”

“I am.” 

“And how many members should I put down for this meeting?”

“Two.” 

 

The meeting was set and he set his phone on the cushion beside him. “You should shower and dress nice. We have a meeting in three hours.” 

“What about Chris?”

“He should be back before we leave. He knows already though.” 

 

Chris was not back before they left. If that made his wolf pace with brief anxiety it was no business but his own. At least Isaac wasn’t able to tell. 

 

They walked to the meeting, Isaac asking questions all the way. “How Big is this pack? What am I supposed to do? I’m I allowed to talk during it? Do I need to know French for werewolf?” It was almost like having Stiles walking beside him. Stiles, who still hadn’t responded to his messages. If the boy wanted to pout and be petty it was fine. Peter didn’t care. He’d come back to him one way or another.  

 

“It’s larger than any you’ve seen. Stand there, try to keep up, and don’t start any fights. Yes, you can talk. No, but it’s loup-garou. And for sake of simplicity- you’re my beta for now. Got it?” 

 

The location was a park. Pedestrians ambled through it with linked arms and ignored the group gathered on the bridge as any polite person would do- that’s to say that Peter could feel eyes on them from everywhere but no one dared come close enough to see what the fuss was about. Everything was shades of green and the stone bridge was chipped from years of abuse. It was beautiful. He kept his eyes on the wolves ahead of them. 

 

“Alpha Bienvenue, it’s a pleasure.” The alpha was not exactly what Peter would have expected if he had walked into the meeting blind. She was small statured with short, curly brown hair and freckles over her nose and cheeks. However, her power was unmistakable. It made his hair stand on end. 

 

“I would say the same, Alpha Hale. But your reputation precedes you.” He keeps his smile pleasant.

“I’m not the man I was. I’m better now. I’ve come here with the intent to rest and to heal alongside a friend of mine in light of recent tragedies in my family. I was hoping that you would grant me residency for as long as we need.”

 

Her eyes swept over them both, “And your beta?” 

 

“Well behaved, I assure you. He’s here for growth and may choose to find a home with another pack in the country before we leave.” 

“Why?” Her eyes turned on Isaac and she stepped forward, speaking in accented English this time. “Why would you choose to find a new pack?”

 

_ Careful, Isaac.  _ “I don’t think I want to go back to Beacon Hills. Especially not now.  I know Peter wants to go back one day, it’s not for me though.” She seemed to accept the answer and moved back to her pack. 

 

“Very well. How long do you plan to stay, Hale?”    
“A month at the moment. Two at most.” 

“Then I grant you residency for both your pack and your… friend. Don’t bring us any trouble.”

 

“You have my word.”    
“Give me your actions.” 

 

When they returned to the room just after six Peter knew Chris was there. His jacket was hung on the rack and there was the faint smell of bourbon under the usual pepper, spice scent he carried with him. “Isaac, do you want to order food tonight? Great, just call in whatever you feel like having.” Isaac was a good wolf but his sense of smell wasn’t as sharp as his reflexes or as strong as his control. While Isaac tossed himself into the chair to call down to the restaurant Peter went down the hall. He didn’t go inside Chris’ room, privacy was important to them both and infringing on that now was the fastest way to earn himself another hotel key. He just knocked and let him know that food was on its way up.    
  


Chris joined them. It was fine. 

 

-   
  


By the end of a two weeks they had a steady routine going. Rest, sight see, relax, take time for themselves, and join each other for at least one meal to check inr and then part ways again. Chris usually pulled a disappearing act around one but was back by three and Peter had found a small bookshop run by another wolf in the city. Her name was Amelia and she wasn’t too shy to gossip with him while he browsed through the books.    
  


“Peter, tell me something. Who is it you’re here with?”

“Simply an old friend. Why do you ask?” 

“Because you smell like wolfsbane and honey. Who is he?”

 

_ Honey?  _ “An Argent.” 

 

“Oooh. And does Bienvenue know?” 

“No.” 

“Is he worth the trouble?” 

He smiles, “Certainly. Now tell me, what’s your price on this?” 

 

-

 

Peter had spent considerable time with Christopher, quiet times while walking around the city and other times arguing over books and music and which pastry shop sold the best sweets. It was almost familiar. Like a dream he once had as a child, too young to understand the horrors that lay in the daylight. 

 

They were in the park, standing on the bridge where Peter had met the Parisian Pack just a fortnite prior when Chris turned to him. “Peter, what are we doing?” 

“We were enjoying a rather pleasant evening.” There’s a harsh sigh from beside him. “We do what we want to. I thought we talked about this. Chris,” and there- he has the man’s attention. “We’re going to go back to our room, Isaac is going to be asleep on the couch, and then we do whatever we want tomorrow too. This is a new start, for all of it. For us.”

“We can’t just start over.”

“Why not?”

“Damn it, Peter! You know why!” 

“Chris. I’m not saying forget. I’m simply saying that we have a chance here to be better than we were. Let’s not waste it.” 

There was a distance between them on the walk back but it was smaller than the canyon between them in Beacon Hills. For that Peter would count it as a win. 

 

When Stiles messaged him for the first time later that same evening he was almost willing to believe the fates were beginning to smile on him. Really, it was about damn time. 


	25. Chapter 25

School was a minefield of anxieties. Between the empty space at their lunch table, the silence that couldn’t be filled no matter how many words were said, and the teacher’s that never stayed and never acknowledged how fucked their high school was. Really what was with that? But it was okay. Scott and Kira didn’t shy away from him, even if Scott looked so pitiful at times that Stiles wanted to run away and never look back, and Lydia was Lydia. Biting and refusing to admit anything could touch her. His dad was more present after everything. Especially after he told him that Peter had left for France. Well in truth, he’d spat the words like they were poison but still. He’d said it. Noah took it in stride. They adjusted. It was probably a bad thing that murder and betrayal was what brought them closer together.    
  


He spent the first week after Peter told him the news seething. He understood it.  _ He did.  _ He didn’t  _ like  _ it though and he still thought it was selfish and stupid and that Peter was a lot of things that didn’t start with S and were far more insulting. It didn’t matter though. He didn’t need him. He certainly didn’t need to respond to his text- Hope you’re well - okay it wasn’t  _ bad  _ but he didn’t feel like playing the forgiving party just yet. Maybe never. Let Peter be the one sweating for once. Stiles had done enough.

 

He had practiced his rune work more in the next days but he was so out of it he only managed in some shaky scribbles so he walked away from it and threw himself into working out instead. Just some pushups and running but it helped with the itchy feeling under his skin. It felt good to be in control of his own body even if what he was doing made his muscles scream and his lungs beg for air. It was his choice. It didn’t matter it if stung a little when the reward was control.

-

“Dude, calculus is kicking my ass.” 

“Ask Lydia for help? I mean, she’s a numerical genius.” 

“I mean, yeah… how are you doing in history?”

“I’m doing fine. I picked up some bonus work to bring my grade back up to an A so I’ll be fine by next month.” A month. A month until they walked away from this place and he had three months of endless days. Days he could sleep and run and work on his Spark and do a ton of stuff. It was summer. He loved summer. This one would be good too. He’d make it the best. “Have you talked to Derek lately?” 

“Derek? No, why?” 

“Nothing, I just thought. Being the alpha and everything you might’ve heard from him. Radio silence isn’t exactly good around here.” 

“I’m sure he’s fine dude. It’s Derek.” 

“Yeah…” 

-

Peter sends him the third message Friday -  _ Hope you aren’t throwing a pity party.  _   
Stiles decides then and there that Peter can go fuck off for however long he wants. He doesn’t care if he ever comes back.

-

He manages to make the protection enchantments work on Saturday morning after an all-nighter. He sits triumphantly with four talisman on his desk and dark circles under his eyes but he’s  _ proud of his work.  _ Shoving the four blocks into his hoodie he hurries out of the room. His dad was up downstairs, there was the tempting smell of coffee in the kitchen and he almost hops the last three steps. “Morning.”  His dad grunts in greeting, not half as awake as Stiles’ was. “So I made something and I want you to keep it with you-”

“Coffee first. Because I’m tired and not going to understand a word until I’m firing on at least two brain cells.” 

“But that could take weeks!” His dad was  _ not  _ amused. 

 

“Okay so, this is protection charm and I want you to keep it with you just like- in your pocket or something? It’ll make me feel like  _ way-way way  _ better. Please?” 

“How does it work?” 

“Magic. Don’t question it, just accept the sparkles.” 

-

The second person he goes to with the talisman is Derek, because why not? When he shoots the man a message saying he’s coming to the loft he’s surprised to find that Derek was in town and simply said to meet him at the diner. He was completely caught off guard when Derek was not  _ alone  _ in the diner. 

 

“Hey, Stiles!” Lucien was to first to spot him, waving him over to the booth. “How are you?” 

 

“I’m good. How are you doing?” With Peter leaving he wasn’t sure how the beta would be doing. Peter had said he’d be fine but hearing and seeing were two very different things. 

“Not  bad.” 

“How are you, Derek?” Stiles wasn’t sure where to sit until Lucien slid toward the window and motioned him down. 

“Good. What did you have for me?” 

“Oh! I actually have one for both of you,” He sets two pieces down on the table. “They’re protection charms. They’ll absorb or deflect one hit- so just make sure to take them off during training or whatever. But yeah. That’s what I’ve been working on.” Derek lifted one of the charms and studied it before something in his posture changed. Relaxed. 

 

“Thank you, Stiles.” 

“Thanks.” 

 

“You guys are welcome. I’ve got one more I gotta give Scott but for the most part, they’re the only ones I have right now. Peter helped me test them before he left.” 

 

“Did you want to have lunch with us?” 

“Oh- uh. I’m not sure” he looks to Derek. Derek who was always broody eyebrows and heavy hands and the man is… smiling at him. 

“It’s fine, Stiles. Stay. Eat.” 

“Okay.” he places an order for burgers and fries, the waitress nodding and saying she’ll get it out soon as she can. Derek and Lucien pick back up the conversation they had apparently been in before he showed up. 

“So, what I was saying is that you cannot bash modern punk music just because it’s new. Yes, Green Day is the king but my guy you have to consider that the radio is not your enemy.” 

“I haven’t exactly had time for concerts lately. Or free time.”

“Let’s fix that- Stiles, favorite band let’s go.” 

“Uh, All Time Low?” 

 

The afternoon flew by- he saw Derek  _ grin  _ and that was insane in and of itself. Lucien was relaxed and Stiles was happy when neither man tried to touch him first. Lucien gave him his space, Derek was Derek but chattier. It was… weird but not bad. Not bad at all. They didn’t talk about Peter, family, pack. None of it except at the very end when they were standing around in the parking lot and Lucien simply said - “You’re always welcome to come by. Even though Peter isn’t around pack is pack, right?” 

 

_ Pack.  _ Pack. With Lucien… but he wasn’t Peter’s pack. Not yet. He was Scott’s. Always Scott’s. He had his brother through thick and thin and to say anything else would be a lie. Yet, pack was about kinship. Protection. A safe place to come back to no matter how far away life took you. Since the Incident his safety net hadn’t been Scott and Kira. Maybe Lydia but definitely not the others. It had been his dad and Peter and… yeah. Maybe he should shelve that thought for a while. That was a lot to unpack. 

 

He takes Lucien up on his offer. He drops by a week after Peter set off for France and brings movies and take out and a houseplant. He keeps himself awake by force of will sitting on the blond’s couch with his hands clasped around a cup of tea in a travel mug. Somewhere in the house is a wolf with flour on his hands and a song on his lips. Stiles thinks he could sleep here. He could sleep for the first time in weeks- he doesn’t want to fight the drowsiness anymore. So he doesn’t. 

 

He wakes up half panicked with a blanket tangled around his legs and dim light coming through the blue drapes. There’s another body to his side. He lashes out before he can register a face- sending the person tumbling backward into the end table. Power pulses inside his skin and then there’s a sound, a hand on his ankle and a voice cutting through it. Lucien. Lucien was there, hands gentle, voice low. Something about it, the cadence of his words, rise and fall of the words and the intent behind them. Nonsense words like “you’re safe” and “you’re okay”. Words that aren’t true but stop the panic anyway. 

“I’m sorry. Shit- I. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, not even a bump. Come on, sit up. You been getting nightmares like that often?” 

“No.” 

“Stiles.” 

“You can’t have nightmares if you don’t sleep.” 

The wolf’s demeanor changes instantly. He hardens but doesn’t lose the gentleness. “Stay here.” Really where was he going to go? Go home? He couldn’t drive right then even if he wanted to. His dad wouldn’t be home until after eight. It was only… it was only five. Yeah, no. He wasn’t about to go home. He could go to Scott’s, could sit in the floor and pretend he was just on another research binge. 

Lucien crouches in front of him when he enters the room again. He’s holding two things in his hands; a box of tea and a book. “So, stop me if you want but you’re not sleeping and you’re pretty tense right? Afraid of nightmares?”

“It’s like if I close my eyes I might lose control again.” 

“You’ve gone through a lot in a short amount of time, it’s not surprising you’re having issues handling it. If you weren’t I think I might be  _ more  _ worried.” The book title is  _  Sleep and Trauma: Sleeping for Soldiers _ .

“I’m not a-”

“No. But you’ve been through hell. I think this could help, of course, the examples might not be perfect but it’s a good book. If nothing else it might help you get your mind to rest. You’re smart, Stiles. You can’t tell me you don’t recognize the signs of PTSD and trauma.”    
“How do you know?”    
“I was a medic for the military. Was gonna go back for my full doctorate when I decided I couldn’t handle it anymore. I’m not going to ask you to talk about it, Stiles. Just take the book. Take the tea. Try to get some sleep and if you do need someone to talk to do it.” 

“Yeah, us Stilinskis aren’t the greatest talkers when it comes to our feelings.” 

“Yeah, well. I’m a pretty stubborn person myself.” 

 

Lucien drives him home. He’s careful driving Stiles’ jeep and he waves when he jogs back down the street. It’s a long run back to his house… Stiles gets a text later letting him know the wolf was home safe. He’s thankful for the thoughtfulness. 

 

The next time he hangs out with Lucien they talk about Peter. After two weeks the anger has simmered down but the hurt still lingered. It was right after school, finals were coming up but the studying could only get him so far. He needed a break. Scott was out of town with Melissa and Lydia was at some seminar. Lucien offered a nice distraction with a PlayStation and homemade bread. He also doesn’t ask about his health. A simple “how’s the book?” and that’s it. Stiles’ doesn’t have to pretend he’s better. He is- a little. The tea helped him go to sleep. Staying asleep was a different matter. But it was better. 

 

“Have you talked to him?” 

“No. You?”    
“A few times. He calls when he gets the chance.” neither of them looked away from the tv screen. “Are you still mad at him?”    
“No. Yes. Kind of? It’s hard to explain. Like, I get why he wanted to leave, this town sucks. It’s dangerous. It’s got a lot of bad memories but I don’t understand why he didn’t just  _ tell me.  _ Y’know?”    
“Yeah. I think, maybe, he didn’t want that tension in the air before he left? I’m not defending him but it’s the only thing I can think of.”   
“Dude, it’s Peter. There’s no reasoning for why he does his crap half the time.”   
“I feel like that’s not true.”

“Yeah, well. I sure don’t get it.” 

“Be mad at him. Call him out on his bullshit. But don’t do anything stupid, he’s trying. Badly maybe but he’s trying.” 

“Oh? Can you feel it through your super secret werewolf bond?”    
“No. I just know that no one puts that much effort into making sure you’re safe just to toss you aside.” Stiles’ player takes a bullet to the knee and goes down on screen. 

 

“He’s still an asshole.” 

 

-

It’s dark outside when he decides to message Peter back. He types it. Deletes. Retypes. Types more and deletes that too. 

 

_ [to Stalkerwolf: 7:22] Don’t be a dick. Hope you haven’t gotten shot yet. _

 

_ Yeah. _  That was perfect. __

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would it be better for y'all if I split arc one and two into two parts of the series (in different fics here on ao3) or leave it as it is? I want it to be the best for you guys.
> 
> Edit:: one fic it shall stay


	26. Chapter 26

Peter likes smart people. People who could run circles around others with their words and who knew the power behind them. He liked the word games and verbal sparring and knew well that he edged on being cruel more often than intended. It wasn’t something he was prepared to apologize for but he was aware of it. Peter also liked people who knew their own strengths. Who didn’t pretend they were the best in all things. It was no wonder he had always been drawn to dangerous people. People who knew too much and who hit too hard. People who never knew the line in the sand and raced headlong into the sea. 

Peter liked those who thought they knew their places. He liked to watch them fall. 

 

Amelia liked to play with the strings of society. Liked to pluck and weave and watch them braid together under a steady hand. She liked old things and watching stories unfold before her eyes. She liked curious people. She liked Peter Hale. The first time he stepped into her shop she’d felt a shift in the air. It happened sometimes, which particularly powerful people. It also happened with those who led the most interesting of lives. She felt he was both. She felt that she should leave him be. She asked him his name instead. 

 

“There’s a rumor that Bienvenue has had meetings with a small group of hunters. Not local ones either.” 

“Oh?” in his hands was a book, lovingly leather bound with glittering letters down it’s creased spine. He had a reverence for the books that she could respect before she would any power. He knew the power of words. Maybe that’s why she told him what she did next. 

“The word is that a rogue alpha is in the city. Building a pack. I was told that before here they killed twelve people trying to gain betas.” 

“Interesting.” 

“Quite… what’s caught your eye there?” she nodded to the book in his hands. She knew it well enough. It had come to her after a year of idle searching, a book on the rare magic users. The warlocks and mages and sparks. 

“I have a friend who would be very interested in this.” His finger traced over the words before gently closing the book. 

“A practitioner?”    
“No. Simply an interested party.” Peter knew better than to let word get out there was a Spark in Beacon Hills. The town had enough problems as it was. “Could you hold it for me? I want to buy it if you’re open to that, I just want to arrange a few things beforehand. It won’t be more than a week.” 

“I suppose. But I will ask a favor for holding it back for you.” 

 

Peter was wary of favors, He knew to never accept one from a fae and to be discerning with all others, he knew not to offer them lightly to anyone, and he knew never to agree to fulfill one before he knew what the favor was. He was also exceedingly curious. 

“What is it?”    
“I need someone to collect lobelias and moon flowers for me, I’m not able to travel outside the city often. You wouldn't mind would you?” It seemed simple enough. Amelia had been kind enough. 

“Just father the plants and nothing more?” 

“Yes. I need them for a client by the end of the week. You’d have to go at night of course and I’d like to have them by Saturday evening...” 

 

“I think we have a deal.” 

*

The scotch burned sweetly going down. It was nice, even if it was only an hour, to forget about things. To forget about Gerard and hunting and all the events that came after. Well. He could try, couldn’t he? The third glass never burned as bright as the first but it didn’t stop him from chasing it. He never stayed more than an hour after the first glass. He didn’t want Isaac to worry. He certainly didn’t want any other wolves sticking their nose into things they didn’t belong in. There had been enough of that. 

 

So he downed the last glass- the eighth? What did it matter? He paid and walked back up to the room. 

 

He never kept his phone on him these days unless he was out in the city. The only people who would call him were hunters and he had told himself he wouldn’t answer those calls. That he was going to rest. Going to grieve. He really should have known better. 

 

His laptop held almost a hundred emails from only the past weeks. He was nothing without the job. That much was clear as day. He had a gun license and training and knowledge and it was his  _ responsibility  _ to take care of those that could not protect themselves. It was what Allison would have wanted. Not for him to hide away in a too nice hotel room like a coward. So he walked back to his room. Stopped to listen to Isaac practice his French in the room he called his and continued to his computer. He needed to be useful. He needed to do  _ something _ . He knew monsters. He knew how to fight them and help people do the same. He could be useful. It was the only thing he could do. He opens his first email and begins to type,

 

_ Marcus, sounds like you’re dealing with a Lamia here’s what you need to do… _

 

*

 

“What are you watching?” five minutes. It took a whole five minutes before Peter couldn’t keep his mouth shut about the tv. Head tilted, brows drawn tight. Genuine confusion in his voice. 

“Miraculous: Adventures of Ladybug and Cat Noir.” it was a children’s show, that was clear enough but Peter wasn’t going to tell the boy to change it. He hadn’t had much free time to enjoy things and Peter wasn’t about to spoil his fun. Besides; he was learning from it. His French was improving quickly between immersion and the two men fielding each and every one of his questions. It was impressive actually.  “I can change it…” Peter snatches the remote away. 

“No, no. I just wanted to know. Relax, pup.”

“Pup?”

“Mmm? What?”

“Nothing.”

-

“Let’s get breakfast.”   
“Peter, I have things to do.” It was early, too early for anything that Chris quote-unquote  _ had to do _ . Peter moved behind the hunter to see his screen. 

“What’s so important?” The laptop snaps closed before he can see more than a half typed email- and Chris’ pulse spikes. Peter steps closer, braces a hand on the counter. “Christopher.”

“It’s not your concern.”

“I disagree. I think when the big bad hunter is hiding something from me it is  _ very  _ concerning.” Peter curls his fingers against the granite countertop. He says again, “Come get breakfast with me.”

“You’re going to be an ass about it aren’t you?” 

“No more than usual.” 

“What about Isaac?”

“Has plans with Katherine from the local pack. Come on, I won’t even ask what’s on the laptop.” It’s a long moment before Chris sighs and stands, shoulder pushing Peter back in indifference to his presence. 

“Fine. Chambelland?” 

“Of course.” The streets were pleasant, bustling but still quiet in that early morning way. Wrapped in a butterscotch sweater that felt like how clouds looked Peter was downright cozy. At his side, Chris was still tense. Like he expected something to come at him from the sunlit alley. Peter didn't comment. 

 

“Stop doing that.” 

“What?”

“Staring. It’s annoying.” It wasn’t like Chris had any reason to accept his help or to tell him anything. They weren’t a couple. They were barely friends. Peter had always been annoying to some degree. 

“I’m just admiring the view.” Chris hadn’t shaved in a few days, his hair was puffed up and unruly and there was the slightest frown on his lips. But the dark circles under his eyes were lighter, he still carried himself tall. He was still handsome. He’d always been that. 

Chris laughed with s bitter edge and shook his head. “It’s true. I get the satisfaction of making everyone in Paris jealous because I’m taken.”

“You’re not taken, Hale. Especially not by me.”

“I could be.” It’s a joke of course. They were what they were and Chris wasn’t going to touch him like that ever again. Well, at least it gave the wolf a challenge. 

 

“Yeah. Right.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this early because, 1) WYLU is going to be late on it's bi weekly update so those of you who follow both consider this an apology and 2) I'm not justifying this at all.  
> So, y'all's comments are lovely, I have some extras that should be coming in the next few weeks andddd I need some good vibes because microcellular biology is a bitch of a class. 
> 
> As always, good vibes to you guys and see you soon!


	27. Chapter 27

“Fuck SATS.”  That was the mood of the century right there. Stiles didn’t know who said it but he knew they were all feeling it.

 

“How do you think you did?” 

“Perfect.” Lydia didn’t seem bothered in the slightest and to be honest, Stiles was a little annoyed. She was top of the class, smart as hell, and of  _ course  _ she didn’t sweat the SATs. “What about you, Stiles?”   
“I did fine. Better than Scotty.” he shoves lightly at the alpha, grinning when Scott perks up “Right Scott?”   
“Hey! I aced that thing! Did great.”

“Yeah?” Scott had been studying a ton for the test so Stiles was inclined to believe him. Stiles himself well… every time he tried to study for one section he was inevitably distracted by something else. It was the Stiles Stilinski Study Method recommended by teachers nowhere. The public testing system was overrated anyway, he knew things textbook authors would never imagine. 

“Yeah.” 

 

“Do you guys want to get early dinner at Josie’s?” they hadn’t really had a pack night since before the nogitsune. It wasn’t intentional. They were just busy. 

“I could eat!” Kira and Lydia both were down for it and Scott grinned with a nod. So it was settled, they were going to the diner. Just the four of them. They piled into separate cars and when they reached the diner squeezed into the booth. Stiles and Lydia on one side, Scott and Kira on the other. 

 

Lydia was the first to ask, “So, what are your plans for this summer?” It was two weeks until plans would be reality. Stiles shrugged. 

“I’ll be here, like always.” 

“I’m working with Deaton but mom said we might go visit her sister at some point. I think Beacon Hills will be fine for a weekend. Right?” That was optimistic but things had been pretty quiet since they - since  _ he  _ killed the Nogitsune. 

Kira fiddled with the paper on her straw. “No plans on my end either, dad has some conference in San Francisco in July so I might try to tag along. What about you Lydia?” 

“Mom wants to fix up Grandma’s lake house so I’ll be out there for a while. Still around though. Maybe if nothing tries to kill us we can do a movie night one day.” 

 

They made their plans over fries and milkshakes. The entire time Stiles felt like maybe this would be the new normal. He felt alright in his skin, there was the bump of shoes under the table that didn’t make him want to bolt, and he was able to eat without it threatening to overwhelm him. It was nice. Normal. 

“So I’ll see you guys at the pack meeting on Friday?” Scott grinned from his place atop his bike. Carefree. His best friend. 

“Yeah, of course. Wouldn’t miss it- your place?” 

“Yeah. See you guys later!” 

 

Stiles didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to go to the station either. “Yo, Derek, what are you up to? Can I come over? I’ll bring snacks.” 

“Stiles, why are you calling me?”    
“Because you’re lonely and need my company, Sourwolf.” 

“Stiles- what?” there’s a conversation going on in the background and he’s only getting Derek’s half of it. “No, fine. Okay." Then back to Stiles, "Fine, you can come over.” 

“Awesome.”

At the rate he was starting to spend time with Derek they would be best friends by the end of the month. It was surprising to see a familiar silver car parked beside Derek’s. There was something odd about the loft when he walked through the door, it wasn’t obvious. Much more a crawling feeling that something was wrong but everything looked the same. The furniture was all still there, nothing was broken, but it was  _ weird.  _ “Did you buy a  _ lamp _ ?” 

“Two.” 

“Who are you and what have done with Derek Hale?” Since they had known him, outside his car and maybe his clothes Derek never really seemed like he had money. He didn’t throw it around (that he reserved for  _ people _ ) and his living situations certainly didn’t reflect it. So the idea that Derek bought two art deco floor lamps was  _ definitely  _ twilight zone-y. 

“Very funny.” Derek was looking at something on the big table in front of the windows so Stiles set his bag down by the couch and went to investigate. 

“What’cha looking at?” maps, clearly. There were three separate sheets spread over the metal desk. Two were maps, one clearly of the preserve and in great stunning detail, and the third sheet was a report of some kind from Hillcrest Police Department which lay across the preserve on the west side. “Animal attack?” He’s shameless in spinning the report toward him, reading it quickly-  _ Animal attack- severe lacerations - fractured skull - age 15 -  _ he pushes it back at Derek. “Is it supernatural?”  _ It’s Beacon Hills. Of course it’s supernatural. _

“Maybe.”

“Likely it’s not anything to worry over.” Lucien came down the steps, two cups held carefully in front of him as he descended. “How are you, Stiles?” 

“Doing all right. Have you been here long?”

“An hour. Did you want a cup of tea?” 

“Oh, no thanks. So are we going to go check it out?” It would be nice to go do something that wasn’t school work. 

“ _ We  _ aren’t going anywhere.” how Derek could make his eyebrows look so angry was a mystery for the masses. Especially when he was drinking tea out of a mug that had pawprints all over it. “Whatever is going on, I will handle it and  _ you  _ will not be in the danger zone.” 

“Dude! That’s not fair. You need me- I’m the smart one here. You’ll go and get your wolfy ass caught by some hunter with a big gun and then I’ll have to come rescue you anyway. Come on Derek, you know I’m right!” 

“What are you going to do if there is something Stiles?” 

“Help.”  _ Duh.  _

“How?” 

“Derek, he’s got good eyes. But,” Lucien looked over Stiles with a small grin “you’re not going alone or at night. Alpha would kill me.” 

“At least let me figure out if it’s another wolf or not before you do whatever it is you’re going to do.” 

“Deal…. So, uh- what now?” 

 

Turns out they were watching a horror movie marathon. Lucien and Derek took the couch while Stiles curled into the armchair with his own cup of  sweetened coffee. He hadn’t taken Derek for a horror movie buff, Lucien either. He wasn’t complaining though. It was a B-flick with shoddy acting and bad effects and they ended up making fun of it more often than actually paying attention. Hearing Derek laugh was something Stiles never expected. A real laugh. One that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and was contagious. One he really didn't think anyone had heard in a long time.

 

Maybe they were all healing.  Maybe they were all going to be okay. 

He sends Peter a text not long after. A snapshot of the two wolves with him captioned;

_ [to: Creeperwolf : 6:32]  pack night without you.  _

 

_ [from: Creeperwolf : 6:41] Hope you’re having fun. Wish I could be there. _

_ [to: Creeperwolf : 6:44] Isn’t it like 3 am there? Why are you up? _

_ from: Creeperwolf : 6:45] It’s 3:44.  You texted.  _

_ [to: Creeperwolf : 6:47]   Go to sleep, creeper.  _

 

He set his phone aside and looked back up.  _ Pack night.  _ Yeah. They were a pack. Derek and Lucien and… Peter. 

Derek was still smiling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, who's on team Make-Derek-Happy?


	28. Chapter 28

Christopher was drinking. He thought no one noticed, that they were too busy enjoying themselves to see that he was burying himself in work and whiskey. Isaac noticed. Peter understood it. It didn’t mean he was going to let it happen. If anyone was going to drag the last Argent into the dark side it wasn’t going to be the man’s own self-hatred. If he wanted to work himself into the grave Peter was not inclined to allow it.   
He arrived back just after seven. 

“Where’s Christopher?”

“He left. He said something about meeting hunters and went out like three hours ago.”  It wasn’t late in the evening, no reason to worry. 

“Christopher can take care of himself. Did he say where he was going?” 

“No.” 

If he wasn’t back in two hours Peter would call him. That seemed like a valid plan. Chris wouldn’t put himself in unnecessary danger- he was a modicum self destructive but not suicidal. He was trying to throw himself into his work in order to stop thinking about the people  _ \- the person - _ he couldn’t save. It wasn’t healthy but it wasn’t horrible. He’d come to his senses sooner or later. 

 

“Do you have plans this week?” 

“I might go to the movies with Katie and Joel.” Isaac had made relations with some of the Bienvenue pack members far more easily that Peter expected. A good thing for his stability- Isaac was a young wolf and Peter knew he needed more than one anchor point in his life. Not more than one anchor per say but ties. 

Where a wolf’s anchor was just that, a strong tether to the rational  _ human  _ part of them there was so much more. There were the pack bonds that helped them keep control, lent them strength and comfort, safety. Like a string tied around the wrist, a way to find your way back. A string in a labyrinth of their own mind. Isaac needed a few more strings in his life. 

“Good. Have fun.”  

 

Chris wasn’t back in two hours. He came in nearly four hours later with mud on his boots, favoring his left side, and the scent of wolfsbane on his skin. Isaac had retreated back to his room when his anxiety reached the point of being tangible in more ways than one some hours before. Likely asleep.

“And just where have you been?” He never thought he could sound so much like his mother. She’d have been proud of him just then. 

 

“Working.” 

 

“Of course. I should have known that retirement was a synonym for hunting. My apologies.”

“It’s none of your business where I go,  _ Peter.  _ I don’t owe you jack shit.” 

“No, my god how could I even think such a thing. I mean, clearly, you’re the paradigm of good decision making and Isaac would be just fine if you got hurt, he has so many role models.” Chris was bent down, taking the muddy boots off but his eyes snapped up. Chris had excellent control over his emotions, it was a contrast between them that Peter would openly admit to admiring. He’d always been too much, too angry, too in the moment. It had taken a long time to temper that flame and even still his mouth ran away from him at times. He wasn’t  _ brash  _ but… passionate. Chris was straight forward and controlled. It made conversations with him a bitch. Especially when he walked away. 

Peter stands and follows him down the hall, Chris tense when he rounds to face Peter. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Talking to you. I thought you were done with hunting for a while.” 

“Well, I changed my mind. It’s not like I can just sit back while people die, that’s not who I am.” The barb was there, Peter decided to ignore it. “It’s not what Allison would have wanted.”

“No. Of course not. She’d much rather watch you drink and kill yourself on a hunt. I’m sure she’d be  _ so- _ ” the punch is a surprise. It shouldn’t be but it is. It’s hard and it stings and it leaves him with a hand braced on the wall and copper in his mouth. 

Chris hisses with unprecedented venom.   “Shut your fucking mouth.” 

“Chris? Peter?”  _ Isaac. _

“Go back inside, Isaac.” 

“It’s fine, pup.” Peter straightens up and wipes the blood from his mouth. The door closes again quietly. 

Softly he says, “You know I’m right, Christopher. You’re just refusing to see it.” 

-

He spends three days avoiding the room and with it, Chris. He sends Stiles photos from museums and historical spots around the city. Wonders at what his beta and nephew were up to with every time he heard they were together. He goes to the theatre and cafes. On Thursday he decides to finish that favor he had agreed to. It takes no time at all to drive out and park his rental on the outskirts of the grove. The forest was peaceful,  _ old.  _ He had a bag slung over one shoulder and was half tempted to leave his shoes back with his car to sink his ties into the ground. Instead, he finds a path hardly traveled and sets out along it. The woods get darker as he goes along, the afternoon sun filtered through centuries-old branches. He comes across the first half of the plants he’s looking for hardly thirty minutes into his search, kneeling to pick the delicate flowers and place them in the bag where they wouldn’t get crushed. The moonflowers were harder to come by.

The closer he went to the center the older the trees became and the heavier he felt the air. His feet didn’t want to carry him much further when he found his prize and sighed with relief. There was old magic in this place. As he collected the first of the blooms it struck him that there were no sounds in this part of the woods any longer. All afternoon birds and rustling rabbits had been his companions. No longer.

 

_ “Who are you?”  _

 

It’s a voice that drags on his nerves like running his hands across weather-worn bark. Dry and rough and lingering after it was finished. He turns his head to the sound, remaining crouched. It takes his eyes a moment to settle on the creature. The Leshi was  _ old _ . He stood at around seven feet if Peter were to wager a guess and his skin was gnarled and cracked much like the eldest oaks in the woods around them. Moss and lichen hung over his shoulders down to his waist and the creature stepped forward into the light to show scarred features over its face and chest. Peter was suddenly very aware of the woods around him. 

 

“Peter Hale.”

_ “And what?” _

“Werewolf.” he let his eyes flare, but didn’t move from his position. A fight was the last thing he wanted.

_ “What business do you have here?” _

“I needed to gather some herbs for a friend of mine. I didn’t mean to intrude.” He stands slowly, bag left at his feet and palms turned outward. 

“ _ And what friend would this be, wolf?” _

“Amelia, she’s a local wiccan.”

 

The trees rustled, branches creaking dangerously with the sudden gust of wind. The ground twisted, vines snaking through the underbrush. The wolf felt trapped and the hair on his neck raised on end. 

“ _ Her kind are not welcome here.”  _ A t hin vine snakes overtop his shoe, brushing against his ankle and he jerks away. 

“Well, calling her a friend is little much. We hardly know each other. She simply asked me a favor.” He was beginning to understand  _ why  _ she had asked that favor. The being’s eyes are dark, endless. It takes a step forward again, head tilting with the crackle of branches beneath the weight of a storm. The tension holds.

Breaks. 

In the blink of an eye the light disappears, vines and branches move toward him and he runs. Runs like hell itself was on his heels. He ducks the outstretched hand that sweeps toward him, long fingers curled into claws akin to knives. He veers to the side, fingers curling around the bag and stumbling back the way he came. He doesn’t manage to dodge the second swipe, too focused on the thorns attempting to drag him down. Pain sears through him, from hip to shoulder and his shirt is instantly soaked in blood. The forest guardian doesn’t manage to hold him though, doesn’t follow him far. There’s an entire woodland to make it through after all, why should the Leshi follow? He swipes out blindly with one claw-tipped hand, slicing through vines and whip-thin branches as they swing at him, leaving thin cuts along his face and neck. This wasn’t a fight he could win. You couldn’t fight nature. You could only get out of the way and hope for mercy; and a being that old had very little. 

 

A thick branch grips his ankle and sends him sprawling, he digs claws of one hand into it, and the claws of the other in front of him and pulls until it snaps and continues running. It’s an eternity before the rumble of cars reaches his ears and he falls to his knees on the edge of the woods. Outside the treeline. He lets his head fall back and allows himself to breathe. It’s nearly nightfall and he’s still bleeding, it’s soaked his shirt and pants, running in rivulets down his arm and dripping into the dirt. It takes everything he has to shove himself up and stumble to the car, throwing the bloody bag to the passenger seat. 

He’s exhausted. Hurting. It’s twenty minutes back to the hotel- just twenty minutes. The bleeding should stop before then… he wraps his right arm around himself to keep pressure and pulls onto the road. His eyes are so heavy… he’s halfway there. Almost. Surely the blood should have stopped coming by now… he should sleep it off… 

The blasting of a horn jerks him up, pulling the car back into his lane. “ _ Shit.”  _

 

_ This would be a shitty way to die. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone loves a cliffhanger, right?


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: canon typical gore and injuries

There’s blood in the stairwell. Small traces of it on the panel of the elevator wall and smeared over the buttons. There’s blood on the carpet in uneven drips. There’s blood on the handle of his hotel room door. There’s blood everywhere and it all leads back to him.

 

Chris draws his gun. 

 

The scene only gets worse as he follows it through the kitchen, down the hallway, and into the bathroom on the left. “Isaac?” The blood is still wet to the touch and he uses the barrel of the pistol to nudge open the door. The sight that greets him on the other side isn’t expected or calming in the slightest. He places the weapon on the porcelain sink without taking his eyes off Peter- who was slumped against the tub in the floor with bloodstained towels piled at his side. He’s pale, not far from the color the towels once had been and he rolls his head back when Chris stops in front of his.

“Hey, Christopher.”  _ He’s lost a lot of blood.  _ The wolf was slurring his words at the end. He kneels on the tiled floor and reaches for the hand that was pretending to apply pressure to what he assumed was the cause of the horror scene leading from the hall. If all the blood was indeed Peter’s whatever he was covering wasn’t going to be a pretty sight. Peter doesn’t fight when he pulls the towel away, but he winces and it’s as good as a shout. 

“What happened?” 

“Leshi. Old one. I’m n’t healing right.” That was an understatement of the grandest proportions. His shirt was still covering a fair amount of the damage but what he could see was bad enough. Four long gouges of near equal length, plus smaller abrasions nearly everywhere else. Chris sucks air through his teeth and winces in sympathy. Going for a light tone he says, “You can’t stay off anything’s toes for a day can you?” 

“I managed two months actually.” Bright eyes are wary on him. It was true the last time they’d spoken was the night he had punched the wolf but that was a defining characteristic of their not-relationship thus far. Things should have settled back between them again to that uneasy truce. And yet. Yet here they were.   
  


“I’m going to get the first aid kit, try to keep up pressure.” Isaac had left for the movies so that was one factor that didn’t need to be worried about but the blood trail surely was already noticed. He calls down to the front desk. 

“Hi, one of the guests in our room cut his hand while preparing dinner, if you could have cleaning take care of the mess- yes, yes ma’am in the hall and elevator as well. I’m so sorry for the worry. No, no it’s all fine now. Thank you.”  _ Small mercies.  _ __  
  


He opens a new roll of gauze and considers if it would be enough.  _ It’ll have to be.  _ He wasted no time returning to Peter. He runs the sink full of warm water and sets out alcohol, gauze, and a pre threaded needle. “Can you get your shirt off?” 

“Already? Well, I didn’t know we were so close.” Snark was good. It meant he wasn’t dead yet.   
  


“Is that a no?” A small inclination of his head. The scissors slice through the stiff fabric easily until it falls away, only held by the bit trapped beneath the towel. “Alright, before we do anything else you’re going to have to move to the tub. Come on.” One arm around his neck, other around his waist, it’s as graceful as a three legged house cat because Peter is two hundred pounds of solid muscle-but they manage. Peter was grinding his teeth so hard Chris was surprised they didn’t crack- but in the end they managed to get him folded and in a position that left his side open for Chris to take care of. The last of the dirty fabric is pulled away and Chris, no stranger to carnage, has to take a moment to breathe. 

The skin is split down to muscle and beyond in the deepest places and the gash closest to his ribs leaves the skin hanging freely now that there is nothing holding it closed. There’s the white of bone, a rib, and the cuts themselves were jagged. There’s so much to process there’s not a true place to begin. 

He curls his fingers into his palm, lets the bite of his nails bring him down, steadies his racing nerves, and sets to work. 

 

He fills a glass with lukewarm water from the sink and warns, “This may sting.” To his credit Peter tensed and hissed, but otherwise said nothing. The water ran pink and he mixed the second cup with a bit of alcohol. “This-“

“Just do it.” 

  
The tub creaks beneath the weight of Peter’s clenched fist. A short bark of “Jesus  _ fuck”  _ accompanied the strain. 

“I’m done. I’m going to stitch the cuts and wrap it then we’re done.” Easier said than done really.  He presses gauze to what he decides to leave for later, starting on the shortest and arguably worst of the cuts. He moves the skin back in place, hand already blood soaked from the simple action and lifted the threaded needle. Peter didn’t react to the first sutures and when Chris raises his head the wolf’s eyes are closed. 

“Don’t go to sleep, Peter.” 

“‘M not.” 

He ties the string off and peels the ruined gauze away from the next gash. Peter’s head rolls forward and the reality of just how much blood he’s already lost sets in. Even for a wolf, it’s too much.  “Come on, asshole. I don’t want to explain a dead body in my hotel room.” Nothing. He wiped his right hand on the closest towel and then used it to take hold of Peter’s hair. It’s a gentle touch but firm enough to be known. He tugs until he can see Peter’s glassy eyes. His voice is harder than he planned but not loud. “Talk to me. How’d you get back here?” 

His hand slips away, goes back to the stitches. 

  
“Drove. Think I left the car… I don’t remember actually. Huh, tha’s not good.” 

“I mean it. If you die I’ll throw your body off the balcony.” 

“So scary.”  Peter slipped some so that his shoulder was braced against the wall, tugging the needle in Chris’ hand. 

“I’m almost to the last one.” No answer. “Peter.”

“I’m awake. By the moon, you’d think you were actually… concerned.”  

His heart ratchets up, slows again. “You would dream.” 

When he finishes the last of the stitches he lets his fingertips linger. “I’m done. You just need to get clean now and then I’ll bandage them. Can you-“

“Yes. I’ve got it.” Doubt fills his head. Between the blood loss and the pain he doubted Peter could stand on his own, let alone wash without reopening his stitches. It’s confirmed when the man barks out a short  _ “fuck”  _ and slams his palm against the shower wall before sliding back down.    
“If you can strip down I’ll take care of your back.” It’s simple, what he would do for any other hunter. Running the water and dipping the cup from earlier under the flow. He’s careful around the new stitches and lets the water do most of the work rather than attempting to scrub. He sets his hand against Peter’s back without pressure. “Tilt your head back.” 

 

_ “If you’ll lean back I’ll do that for you.”  _

_ “You’re too sweet.”  _

 

“Okay. Come on, that’s as good as it gets tonight.” Peter gets his own feet beneath him, his arm a solid weight around Chris’s shoulders. There’s not a clean towel left in the entire place so he makes do with the few hand towels he finds beneath the sink and then helps Peter into bed. The wolf curls onto his uninjured side, shivering until Chris drops a heavier blanket over his form. “Goodnight, Peter.” He lingers, fingers brushing the curve of his shoulder. 

He leaves the door cracked, light shining in just enough to check on him. The murmur of “G’night Christ’pher” almost goes unheard. Almost. 

 

-

Peter slept like the dead. Every time Chris found himself checking in on him he was in the same position, not daring to stir even when he rearranged the covers over the alpha. Isaac had come in warily; worried. Worried about Peter. If only anyone would believe it. It took a while to get him asleep, with the scent of blood heavy in the apartment despite Chris’ best efforts to open the windows to try to rid the place of the memory. 

Around three he sits in one of the armchairs, just for a moment. He didn’t plan on closing his eyes. 

 

He wakes to a crash and a curse. Isaac bumps into him in the hallway, wide eyed and hesitant despite his curiosity. “Stay behind me.” He nudges the bathroom door open, deja vu heavy even without the gun, and shakes his head. Isaac hovers in the doorway as he kneels beside the elder wolf. “What are you doing, Peter?” 

“Taking a fucking piss what do you think?” Peter always prided himself on his eloquence. His ability to talk circles and know the right word for every situation. When he started cursing Chris knew he was losing it. Even if he still acted like he had all of the control.

He sends Isaac for food, a small thing for Peter’s pride.    
  


“Peter, you need to take it easy while you heal.”

“I don’t need you to hold my hand, Christopher.”

“I know… will you let me change the bandages at least?” They were already dotted with blood. 

“I suppose.” It was a quick affair, neither keen on talking about the events of the evening but when Chris presses his palm against the warmth of Peter’s side there’s a moment where he swears the man leans into it. Chases the touch when he pulls away. He doesn’t dare say a word about it. They weren’t those people. 

Not anymore; not yet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the wait wasn't too bad and I certainly hope it was worth it.


	30. Chapter 30

“I’m worried.” Lucien paced the length of his living room and back. The blond wolf had been nervous since the previous morning without the slightest hint of why. He’d woken up snappy and with the lingering sense of wrong in the back of his mind.  

“If there’s one thing my uncle is, it’s a survivor. I’m sure he’s simply caught up in the lavish life that Paris has offered him and forgot to call.” It was strange to think about Peter without the history hanging over his head. It would never go away but it was different now. Being able to think of him as someone else’s alpha. The sting of the fire and… Laura… it wasn’t as open a wound; while he doubted it would ever disappear it wasn’t what was defining them. When Peter left he’d tried to talk to him but that had never been either of their strong suits so they’d just left it with a promise -  _ I’ll try to do better.  _

“But…”

“But?” Lucien was frowning and Derek shifts, pausing the tv and giving the man his fullest attention. 

“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.”

“You could call him.” 

 

The silence lingers before there’s a break in the tension and Derek moves over for Lucien to sit beside him. “I don’t want to come off as… needy. What if it is nothing? What if I’m just working myself up over nothing and I call and interrupt something important?” This was a different person to the vibrant man he’d spent the last months with. This was someone Derek had caught the barest glances of and didn’t much like seeing now. Anxious and quiet. Doubtful. “What if I bother him?” 

 

“He’s your Alpha, you’re supposed to call him when you need to.” He knew little of where the blond was before. He knew just enough to understand where the hesitancy may come from. “I can call him for you but I don’t exactly have a phone.” Lucien considers, he can see the different outcomes cross his face. He waits it out. 

“Okay.” 

 

It rings out and the cheery automated message tells him to leave his message at the tone. He hangs up, looks at the time. “Let’s give it a few hours. He’s probably sleeping.” They sprawl over the couch, feet kicked up and action movies playing in the background. Mostly they talked about nothing. About the new coffee shop opening downtown and the warehouse the city was tearing down just two blocks over. Lucien asked what he should paint the walls of the master bedroom. Derek said blue. It was in a stretch of silence when the ringing phone startled them both. Derek was closest and so he answers. It’s not Peter on the other end. 

 

“Lucien?”

“Derek, actually. Why do you have Peter’s phone?” 

“He’s hurt. I’m letting him try to sleep it off.” Lucien pries the phone from his hand and puts it on speaker. 

“What d’you mean hurt?” 

“I mean he got into it with a forest spirit and cut to the bone about two days ago.” Chris put it so plainly it takes a minute for the words to gain meaning. Peter wasn’t the kind to get into it with nature spirits. He could piss off anyone but even he had proper respect for the forest dwellers. 

Lucien seemed to clamp down on his worry, posture straightening and voice turning calmer. “And he’s not healing?” 

“Not like he should, it’s slow.”

“You stitched the wounds?” 

“Yes.”

“You’re disinfecting it with human meds?”

“Once a day, changing the bandages twice.” 

“Any signs of infection?”    
“No, but if it’s supernatural I can’t say I’d know by look.”

There’s a crease in his brow and his mouth is a firm line. “Let the stitches breathe for an hour after you change the bandages and if it’s not healing in another three days max let me know so I can look into what might cause it. Also- makes sure he’s eating balanced with an emphasis on fluids.” It was easy to forget that the wolf was a doctor and Derek finds himself staring. First aid of any kind wasn’t a skill he’d ever acquired. The humans in their pack rarely needed it and the wolves never had need at all. Hearing the back and forth between two men who were well versed in the topic was easy enough to follow but all the same he’s impressed. 

At the end he tacks on, “Will you have him call us when he’s awake?” 

“I will.” 

 

The tv is still playing silently when Lucien tosses his phone to the table and frowns at his toes. 

“Are you okay?” It seems right to ask. It feels dumb coming out of his mouth. 

Lucien nods and then considers his words. They catch Derek by surprise when they finally leave his lips. “Do you want to stay over? Just until he calls? I know you aren’t close but he’s your uncle and I wouldn’t feel right knowing anything before you do. I have extra blankets it you want to stay on the couch.” 

“I think that’s a great idea.” 

 

***

 

It’s nearly four in the morning when his phone goes off and he’s scrambling to grab it before it rings out. Peter’s name is stark on the screen and first it’s a spike of fear in his gut. What if it was Chris again? What if he had gotten worse? It was possible and it wasn’t like he could know. He slides the screen and pulls it to his ear. 

“Hello?” his voice is still sleep rough and he winces as it grates even his own ears. 

“I hear you’re worried about me.” 

_ Oh thank god.  _ “Well, someone has to be.”

“Not really.”

“Derek is here too.”

“Oh  _ is  _ he?” There too much in that tone to unpack so he decides to shelve it far away. “Are you telling me my nephew was so worried that he slept over?” 

“Somethin’ like that.” his chest is little looser and he stands to walk to the living room where Derek is asleep on the pull out couch. He hesitates to wake him but touches his shoulder all the same. He wakes with a start, eyes glowing vibrant blue and Lucien’s breath catches. “Peter’s on the phone.” The eyes fade and Derek looks just as caught out but shakes it off fast. 

The moment Peter is on speaker Derek says, “What did you do?”

“Well hello to you too, Derek.”

“Peter.” Seeing how quickly Peter could get under Derek’s skin and pull a growl to the surface was interesting. However it wasn’t his place to pry.

“I got into a minor scuffle with a Leshi. I’m fine, Christopher patched me right up.” 

“He says you aren’t healing.” Lucien interjects, sinking down next to Derek on the edge of the couch. 

“I am. It’s slow though. You needn’t worry your pretty little heads about it.” 

“Promise?” Derek is watching him. He knows it. Hates how his voice is a little shaky.  _ God, I’m like a fucking child. _

“Promise. Now go back to sleep you two.” There’s not an option because Peter hangs up on them both. 

 

Derek looks wary without the distraction of the phone call between them and Lucien gives him a little smile. “I don’t mind it.” He knows it’s about his eyes. Blue eyes like that were a death sentence for some of them, a mark of ostracism for most, and always changed the way they were handled. Lucien knew it first hand. Cautiously he lets the electric blue bleed into his own eyes and looks up. “I know sometimes it’s not a choice.”    
  


Derek’s smile is shaky but it’s there beneath the ducked head. A silent thank you.

 

When he wakes up just past nine Derek is gone but the blankets are folded neatly on the chair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, life has gotten kind of hard. Since writing is an outlet for me I will still be writing but I'm not sure if the updates will continue at the same relative pace or not at the moment. I want to do this story justice and the mental state I'm currently in may or may not allow that. 
> 
> If nothing else; keep an eye out for either some super fluffy or some hella angsty one-shots in the coming weeks as well as a Steter Reverse Bang secret project!   
> As always - thank you guys for reading and all the love to you.


End file.
